


Earth Vermin

by TooOldForThis76



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: F/M, Pre-Android Saga
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-12
Updated: 2018-07-04
Packaged: 2018-09-23 19:08:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 84,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9672212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TooOldForThis76/pseuds/TooOldForThis76
Summary: Bulma discovers that Vegeta is harboring a certain kind of earth pest and must assist him in getting rid of them.  As always the Saiyan prince is indignant, but . . . those hands . . .





	1. Earth Vermin

**Author's Note:**

> Ok I'm going to start this off with a "please don't hurt me" statement.
> 
> First of all, I'm an old lady. As the name implies, I'm too old for this, but I'm stepping foolishly ahead with posting this story because a) I'm sick of writing stuff that just stays on my hard drive and never goes anywhere and b) this turned out pretty well and I didn't want to keep it all to myself.
> 
> Second of all: this is my first ever stab at fanfiction so I have no idea whether I've violated the "rules" of all that. I obviously don't own Dragon Ball or this concept of Vegeta and Bulma as characters, I'm just a fan whose brain is trying to compensate and figure out exactly what happened leading up to the birth of Trunks (and maybe a little beyond, but more on that later). I greatly admire Toriyama's ability to leave just enough for the reader to WANT to figure all that out, but I think it's a shame that the maturity of Bulma & Vegeta's relationship is never really explored much in the manga or the anime.
> 
> Anyways, drop me a comment if you enjoyed it :)

“They’re called fleas, and you’re infested with them.” Bulma said, not trying to hide the disgust in her voice. “That’s what happens when you sleep in outside instead of in the room you’ve been offered multiple times by both myself and my parents.”

“fle—what?! Explain!” Vegeta said, his hand dashing to an itchy spot on his scalp.

“Fleas. They’re insects.”

  
“Wha—you mean I’m infested with vermin?! LIES! I see nothing!” he growled as he felt the sting of another bite near his ear.

  
Bulma turned down one corner of her mouth. She reached her hand out to his high standing hair and quickly pinched a shiny black bug between her thumb and forefinger. She brought her tightly clinched fingers close to his face and spread them apart just far enough for the Saiyan Prince to see 6 legs flailing. “See? What did I tell you?”

Vegeta’s face lit up a bright, burning red. At least the woman had sense enough to proclaim this loudly while no one else was around. Visions of Krillin’s bald head and Yamcha’s smug, smiling face flashed through his brain as the green haired brute before him crushed and rubbed the bug between her fingers. “What—what do you do to get rid of them?! How?!”

  
“Well, first of all, you need to wash all your sheets and your clothes. Then once those are washed, the next logical choice is to wash yourself.” Bulma said, holding her nose high up in the air. “There’s a special shampoo you can use that kills the bugs and the eggs but you’re going to need help to get them out of that hair of yours, Vegeta. You can’t just rinse them out.”

  
“Fine. Just don’t do anything . . . funny.” He growled.

  
“Don’t flatter yourself, Prince.” She said as he dashed his hand to his scalp again. She gave a smirk not unlike the one he had flashed to the Z fighters on the battlefield so many times before. She paused in the doorway leading to the door and looked over her shoulder to make sure he was going to follow, sharpening her smile as he obediently trailed behind. “Gather your clothes, your sheets, your pillow, anything linen out of that room of yours and bring it to the washroom. Since we’re using a special shampoo, I’m getting the washtub ready.”

  
“A washtub?! What am I, some kind of animal to you?! What’s wrong with the shower I used last time?”

  
“For one thing, I’m not getting in a shower with you.” She said as she pushed the button to open the Capsule Corp washroom. “I’m a young, beautiful woman. I need to make sure you’re not going to do something funny to me.” She said, handing his words deftly back to him. “Secondly, I’m not taking time out of my busy day to rinse the flea shampoo out of the place where us earthlings wash our bodies. I’m not just another pretty face, I do have a job here at Capsule Corp, you know.”

  
“Fine, just help me get rid of these things!!” Vegeta spat as another bug bite blistered across his head.

  
“You’ve got ten minutes.”

                                                                                                                                        ***

  
“Me, the Prince of all Saiyans,” Vegeta muttered to himself as he yanked the blankets off his meager bed, “Reduced to a maidservant. No, the servant of the maidservant!!” he said as he ripped the pillowcase from the pillow and threw it down to the pile. “Infested with . . . earth vermin!!! This planet . . . I should have destroyed it long ago!” he said as he removed the white, outer shell of his Saiyan armor and hung it over the bedpost. “Wretched, vulgar woman. What does she know of my grooming habits?!” he said to himself as he slid his arms out of his blue bodysuit, “Why couldn’t I use this magic elixir myself and be rid of these . . . fleas . . . without the humiliation of prancing around naked in front of . . . tch!”

  
Vegeta threw his gloves and boots to the center of the pile. He grabbed the sides of the bedsheet and gathered all the items in the center, creating a makeshift bag which he carried over his midsection and private parts just in case Yamcha and Krillin decided to use their uncanny talents for poor timing and come back just as he was covering the short distance between his room and the washroom naked. Steam rolled out of the washroom as he pressed the button for the door. He scanned the room for the earth woman but found no sign of her, just billows of steam and a large, wooden tub in the center of the white tile floor filled with water so hot that a light mist roiled across its surface in swirling tendrils. “Are you here?” he said, cocking his eyebrow. “I’m about to set my items down before these blasted washing machines which, might I remind you, took a good two hours to wash my armor last time you laundered them.”

  
“For your information, I am not the laundry girl.” Came her voice from a wall-mounted speaker. “You’re a big boy, you can do your own laundry. Just put the items in the machine on the left and press the button that says Soap and Wash.”

  
“What I—I CAN’T READ YOUR LANGUAGE YET I’VE BARELY EVEN BEEN HERE A YEAR!” he said, reasserting his grip on the laundry bundle, “HOW DO I KNOW WHICH ONE SAYS SOAP AND WASH?!”

  
“Well you KNOW which one is left and which one is right!! You don’t need to know how to read for that! Look just put your stuff in the left machine and I’ll press the button when I come in.”

  
“Why are you not in the room?!” He roared as shoved the entire bundle into the machine.

  
“Because I wanted to give you some privacy, Prince Vegeta!” She said, shoving her words out of the speaker.

  
“Well how much privacy am I going to have if I’m naked in the tub before you?!”

  
“That’s why I put a towel beside the tub … so you could lay it across your private parts and spare me the gory details.” She said as Vegeta rolled his eyes and let out a groan. “UGH! Just get in the tub so we can get this over with!!”

  
Vegeta placed his feet in the tub. He felt the burn crawl up his skin, his calves turning pink clear up to his knees. His mind involuntarily rushed to the time in his life where he’d been a prisoner, tortured at the hands of Frieza, how often he’d been burned or scarred, how many of those scars still decorated his flesh, a history he could not erase, marks more befitting of a slave than the son of a king. But now there was no more tyrant, only the woman waiting on the other side of the door, her voice crackling an impatient reminder through the speaker on the wall to immerse himself further into the scalding hot liquid. Reluctantly he lowered himself into the water. It singed his buttocks and elbows, it raised steadily up his midriff as his body displaced it in the tiny tub. It splashed out onto the floor to a small pyramid of towels she had piled up to the side. He gave a grunt as he reached his hand to the pile’s apex and grabbed a crisply laundered roll, laying it over his lap before bellowing with more than a touch of annoyance dancing in his voice, “Well, I’m ready!”

  
                                                                                                                                  ***

Bulma kept her eyes to the ceiling as she pressed the button to open the washroom doors. She let out a little sigh before stepping in, a small bucket and flea shampoo in hand, a small wooden fold-out stool tucked under her arm. She caught one small glimpse of his broad, bare shoulders and his distinctive upward sweeping hair before begrudgingly pressing the Soap & Wash button on the washing machine. “It’s the pink one, just so you know.”

  
“What is?”

  
“The button for the soap & wash . . . on the washing machine. Just in case you need it in the future.”

  
“Oh of course it is.” He said as he tightened his crossed arms across his abdomen. “Pink. Your favorite color, I should have known.”

  
“Pink is not my favorite color.” Bulma scoffed, “Just because I’m a girl doesn’t mean I’m crazy about pink.”

  
“Well that didn’t stop you from dressing me in that damn shirt.”

  
“Aaaaannnnnndddd you’re welcome.” She said as she set the fold out stool next to him. “So I’m going to fill this bucket in the sink, then I’m going to wet your hair down and scrub it.”

“And that will get rid of these . . . these fleas you’re speaking of?”

  
“It may take a couple of passes. Your hair isn’t exactly umm, well . . . “ She said as she stepped away to fill the bucket. “Well, it’s kind of not like people hair.”

  
“Because I’m not people, is that it?”

  
“Vegeta just . . . relax a minute. Loosen up. At least you don’t have lice!”

  
“Lice? What are lice?”

  
“Another type of a bug that can live in your hair.”

  
“You mean there’s more bugs?! Like that?!?!”

  
“Uh huh and if you had lice we’d probably have to shave your head down like Krillin!” Bulma said with a giggle.

  
Vegeta gritted his teeth and squeezed his arms around himself so hard that the muscles in his back seemed to pop. He turned his head away from her as she popped open the cap to the shampoo and shivered as she poured the water in a slow trickle over the highest peak of his hair so that it leaked slowly through into its furry core and down to the base of his skull. He heard the sound of the gel moving around in her palms, then, as if collapsing the last barrier of his personal, private space, she placed both of them to either side of his hairline and rubbed the soap in. The smell of the shampoo was nearly overwhelming to his Saiyan senses—it was sharp and vaporous, sweet and deep, a smell of great depth, pungent like the herbs that grew in earth’s meadows, the place in which he had doubtlessly contracted the little hard shelled fiends that got him in such a situation to begin with. The foam tingled as it hit his scalp, cooling every hot bite the tiny insects had inflicted as it penetrated down, down, down at the working of her persistent, thorough, and rhythmic hands. Vegeta loosen up he heard her voice say in his mind as he felt his knees relax and sink towards the sides of the washtub. Hey you’re kind of cute! And he felt her hands work upwards, away from the scalp, gently kneading the tuft of black hair high upon his head, the hair that had stubbornly refused to turn the distinctive blonde of the Super Saiyan form, the hair that had distinguished the line of the royal house of Vegeta from the lowly soldier class since time immemorial.

"Gee your hair is really weird.” She said as she filled her palms with more shampoo, “It’s kind of like dog hair.”

  
“Tch, compare me to a dog . . . “ Vegeta muttered, feeling his anger rise and then fall as her fingers dove deep into the thick of his hair, losing himself in a heady mix of scent and sensation, of warm earth water, of meadows and bugs, of her smooth fingers finding their way through his pride, how often he had seen them at work on some new invention, how they must have sought out the Dragon balls when she and Kakarot were mere children. The knot of his arms slowly slid away from their tightly crossed formation. His eyes lazily closed as his head began to roll, following the lead of her hands, the movement of her kneading, the underlying rhythm of her breathing, the faint pulse of her ki. He let out deep, guttural groan as she gathered all the peaks of his hair together and pulled with a constant upward pressure that was deliciously firm, one that made his toes curl unseen deep within the wooden tub. She let go momentarily and slid her hands lower down his head, to his jawline, smoothing her palms over his ears until her fingernails found entry through the roots, sliding through the intimate rows of Saiyan locks that no woman had ever dared to enter or explore. She closed her fingers and rung his long locks through them in a way that was slightly painful. He closed his hands around the rim of the tub and breathed through his nose, groaning as she moved with her fingers clamped tightly shut all the way to the top, sinking down into the tub as she let go, as if she had somehow been supporting his weight.

  
Bulma bit her lip and gave a coy giggle. He rolled his head back, keeping his eyes closed in a placid ecstasy she could have never imagined seeing on the Saiyan Prince Vegeta, a person who had mercilessly slain Captain Zarbon before her and haunted her nightmares for weeks afterwards. “I’m going to rinse it out now, ok?” But Vegeta only made the sound of a hum from deep inside his throat. “Come on, sit up.” She said, pressing her hands against his shoulders until he was placed in an upright position, sitting forward chin to chest, limp as a doll, almost alarmingly so for someone who was always so on guard. He shuddered as she unceremoniously dumped the contents of the bucket over his head, obviously waking him from his deep, temporary trance as he quickly shook the water out of his hair. “It’s still not out.” She said, “Hold on, let get more.”  
Bulma hung the bucket over the faucet and turned the water on. She looked over her shoulder to where Vegeta was sitting and was surprised to see him still slumped forward. He raised his head from under the weight of the water and rotated it around his neck and shoulders, asking as she returned to his side, “Well, are these fleas gone? Or should we have another go at it?”

  
“Another go?”

  
“To shampoo again.”

  
Bulma gave a girlish giggle, “Are you asking me for more?”

  
“More. Harder this time.” He said as he tilted his head back obediently, “I-I mean, I want them to be dead, I don’t want to have to do this ever again . . . Please.”  
Bulma set the bucket full of hot water on the floor. She reached for the shampoo and squeezed a high pile of the creamy green gel out on her palms, rubbing them together briefly before thatching her fingers directly in the center of his glorious mane. She watched as his skin dotted over with fine bumps where his body hair would have been standing on end if he’d had any—so strange that someone so masculine could be so completely devoid of body hair or whiskers, strange that someone so unbearably dominating would melt so easily in her hands over something as trite as hair washing. She worked her hands down to his scalp, let her tubular fingers encircle his head, and drew them upwards in one long, synchronized stroke. Vegeta hummed again, this time sounding more urgent as she raised her knuckles, pushing against shampoo and hair, ripping the locks that stuck together as her hands raised and spread apart. His breath caught in his throat as she milked one side of his locks and then another, pulling firmly upward, wringing the foam out in long, white, fluffy channels that rolled down the side of his neck, ears and face, exhaling as she let go, making no attempt to muffle or hide the sound of his pleasure.

  
But behind him, Bulma was struggling to keep her glee under control. She dashed the back of her hand to her mouth as laughter threatened to burst out over how hard he seemed to be getting off on having his hair pulled. She peeked over the edge of his shoulder and noticed how tight and bunched and protruding his nipples seemed to be. Further down, the white towel had taken on the impressive outline of his cock. She reached her hands out again and took a small little tuft of hair near right temple and firmly pulled, observing how readily his head followed, even as she grabbed another tuft from the base of his skull and gently tugged in the other direction. Anywhere her hands would pull his head would follow, with growls beginning to mix in with the sounds of his carnal pleasure. When she was quite sure she had pulled every quadrant of his long, luxurious spikes, she reached down for the handle of the bucket and said, “I have to rinse it out again. Is this too hot?” she said as she poured a small amount at the base of his neck.

  
“No.” He managed to say, and Bulma gently tipped the rest of the bucket forward until rivers of water washed down his face and chest.

  
“One more time.” She said as she walked to the sink to refill the bucket. “Your hair is just so thick, it’s hard to rinse!”

  
Vegeta tilted his head towards the sound of her voice. He made the mistake of opening his eyes and as he opened them, his eyes caught some bit of the leftover foam, stinging them painfully, but before he could make a sound Bulma was already dumping the next bucket of water. Vegeta sputtered, “Tch! Eyes!”

  
“Did you get it in your eyes? Shit!” She said, dropping the bucket and grabbing one of the towels from the floor. She took the side of his face in her hand and wiped the moist towel over his browline and over his eyes repeatedly, “I’m sorry Vegeta, I should have told you to keep them shut.” She said as she laid the towel over her arm and took both sides of his face in her hands. “Can you open your eyes? Are you ok?”

  
“Ok.” He said as his body went slightly limp again in her hands.

  
“Geez Vegeta,” she said with a broad smile unseen by his tightly closed eyes, “You must really enjoy getting your hair washed.” She said with a giggle that she quickly extinguished with a gasp as Vegeta nuzzled his face into her hand, then opened his mouth and touched her skin with a timid lick of his cool tongue that went up the triangle space between her thumb and forefinger. He licked from her wrist to as far up her forearm as he could go without extending his tongue much further than he would to take a taste of fruit or a sip of her coffee, something he never missed for as long as he’d been invited to stay at Kami’s lookout. “Vegeta . . . “ she whispered as he faintly closed his hand around hers and pulled her arm down to lick it further, his tongue following the elliptical shape of her forearm to the wrinkly crease above her elbow. He opened his mouth just a little wider as he reached her shoulder then closed it again as he reached her neck, but just as he was about to kiss the very side of her face, he felt her fingers trace over the hardness that was still hiding beneath the washcloth on his lap.

  
The prince drew back slightly. His eyes met Bulma’s. The ki in his body was gathering furiously—was it from the heat of the water? The suffocating steam? Was it the fact that she was looking him straight in the eye as her fingers encircled his towel-covered cock, with a peculiar kind of smile on her face? A demanding, vulgar, beautiful earth woman, what was he to do? So many years spent safely beyond the reach of the legendary power of the women of his own planet, only to be felled by her firm, bold grip.  
“That’s umm . . . that’s really something . . . you got . . . going on there.” She said as he brought his nose close to where her ear and her hairline met, sniffing her like an animal. “You’re um . . . you’re kind of bigger than I expected for someone so small.”

  
“Not small.“ he snarled quietly, too distracted by the nuances of the scent in her hair and sweat and pheromones to be angered by the slight. He brought his mouth to her neck. He parted his teeth and tested them across her skin, but just as he took the notion to bite, her hand traveled down and up his cock again. The energy moved through his body strange, scrambled, confused, panicked almost, lost inside, unanchored except that this woman, this beautiful woman with blue-green hair, was bringing her face close to his, and as their lips touched, the ki bubbling in his body found its way out though her, through her sweet, soothing kiss, the taste that complimented the smell, with some small stream of her ki innocently passing through to his like ink into water, without her even knowing, no agenda, except . . .

  
Vegeta suddenly jumped up and seized Bulma with both arms but in his attempt to pull her into his lap, he tipped over the washtub, spilling water, human and Saiyan out onto the floor, landing naked on top of her, soaking her clothes from the top as the spilled water soaked her clothes from the bottom. But instead of being flustered and apologizing profusely as Yamcha or another human may have done, Vegeta searched her great blue eyes for any sign of panic; he put his chin to her cheek and nudged it aside slightly and breathed down her hairline, sniffing over the place where her earrings pierced her earlobes, licking down the nape of her neck and down the other shoulder, taking a small, playful bite of the roundest part of it. He felt a small influx of fear draw back her ki from him as he passed his hand over her still clothed breast and down her side to her hip. Vegeta paused. He cocked his eyebrow and brought his eyes to hers again. Bulma lifted her hand from the floor and let it fall back slightly again as he flinched, but there, in her eyes, he could see the soul of determination overwhelming the lie of fear, and she lifted her hand again and brought it to his hair. She curled her fingers inside, gave it a firm pull, and nearly squealed with delight as Vegeta closed his eyes and bit his lip, his chest swelling with a sharp, sudden inhalation. He let his breath out again with a loud groan as she grabbed his hair from the other side with the opposite hand. He pressed his hips down, his cock pressing against the thin fabric of her panties. “I . . . I want this.” He said as her hand made a fist inside and pulled with a firmness that would have ripped out human hair by the handful, “Damnit woman don’t toy with me! Don’t do it if you don’t mean it!!”

  
Bulma pulled back on Vegeta’s hair until she had enough room to sit up at the waist. She let go of her grip, and as he swooped in to take another kiss she halted him with her finger held upright like someone telling him to shush. She grabbed the sides of her dress and pulled it off in one clean jerk. She bent her arm behind her back and unhooked her bra. She snaked her shoulders out of the straps and tossed it away to the other side of the room, leaving her breasts bare, her panties the only piece of clothing left on her body. “Don’t toy, huh?” She said as she smoothed her hands over his face and let her long fingernails through his roots, “Big words coming from someone who’s like a big plaything in my hands.” She said, sending chills throughout his body as her hands met at the back of his head.

  
“I don’t like being controlled, woman.” He warned as she kissed the side of his ecstatic face.

  
“I don’t want control, badman.” She said as she dropped her right hand from his head and passed it under his body, bringing it up just under his tight balls, dragging her open palm up the shaft of his cock, “I want to see the big bad Prince Vegeta surrender.”

  
Vegeta flashed a cocky smile, “I don’t do that either, so if we start this, you know I won’t stop until you’re the one who surrenders.”

  
“Wanna bet who goes first?” She said with a wink as she pushed her panties down with her fingers, “The rules are simple: You cum first, You’re mine. I cum first, I’m yours. Deal?”

  
Vegeta slid his hands beneath her thighs. He gently hoisted her legs up into the air, guiding her panties up her knees and calves, letting the lace rest a moment on her toes as he licked the soles of her feet, awash in a treasure trove of scents. He hugged both her of feet to his face then tossed away the panties, then, with a power uncanny for someone of his size, he grabbed her by the hips and brought them just beyond his with her knees resting on his shoulders, and her pussy within bodyheat distance of his cock. “You could just surrender now.” He said as he brought himself forward just enough for flesh to graze flesh, “Spare yourself . . . you’re only human, you know.”

  
Bulma reached her hand down. She positioned his cock until it was resting just on the inside of her waiting pussy. She let go and brought her fingers to his hair, pushing up with her hips as she pulled his hair with her hands, “Go fuck yourself, Saiyan. This is mine!” She said, gasping as the length of him pushed its way through to the depth of her.  
“No, fuck you!” He said with hate as he pushed himself hard into the earth woman, underestimating just how tight and warm and wet she would be, how enticing her moans, how serious she was about their little contest. Her eyes grew sharp as his swam. Her fingers felt their way up his shoulders as he moved himself in and out at a slow, unhurried pace. “I’m going to enjoy this.” He hissed as he ground himself further down against her, “You put yourself in front of me, constantly, tempting me, you think I don’t see it?.” He said as he positioned her almost upon her shoulders, but Bulma had already found her way back into his hair, and as quickly as he had moved in for the killing strike he was retreating as Bulma pulled mercilessly backwards, pressing her body weight through her buttocks until the smaller male was pushed back to the floor. Vegeta felt his cock fatten inside of her. For a split second, he considered the thought that her wetness was grinding into where his wetness would blast forth, that the barrier between them was getting harder and harder to distinguish as she bucked her hips . . . honest feminine desire, the agenda, destroyer of planets, space, home, the capsule corp craft waiting outside.

  
Vegeta jerked his head away and abruptly withdrew himself from her. He placed his hands on her waist and turned Bulma over so that she was face down on the wet floor. He placed his hands upon her wrists again and entered her from behind, relishing the sound of her loud, uninhibited cry. “I know what you want . . . Bulma.” He said, holding her name in his mouth with his faint accent as he firmly forced his weight down upon her, “I’m not this dumb clod of a Saiyan that you’re used to with Kakarot. I’ve observed you, I can read your ki.” He said as he pressed his cock as far forward into her as he could. “I know what it is that you want worse than anything else. You have no need for riches. You have no desire to fight. You no longer need to prove yourself to be respected, you’re admired greatly by the scientific community, by the citizens of this planet, by your own parents, you’re already well loved among your peers . . . but there’s one thing that has consistently evaded you, something you could not bring yourself to ask for each time Shenron has been summoned, yet it has been the one wish burning brightest in your heart. You . . . most of all . . . wish . . . to be desired.” He said, taking her hair in his hand and giving it a gentle tug, “I was perfectly content to be a warrior, focused on my training, but you have persistently thrust yourself in front of me—how could I not have noticed? The way you bat your eyes. The way you try to boss me around as if I were as lowly as those two earthlings who come here every day, and now to lay your body before me, tempt me like you do, full well knowing how much more physically powerful I am than you . . . I don’t think you understand what it’s like for a Saiyan . . . to be lusted.” He said, biting into the back of her neck. “You should have known Bulma. You should have known . . . the fire you were playing with . . . would burn your house down!!” He said with a laugh as Bulma’s moaning began to escalate. He felt a faint twitch gathering strength deep in the muscle walls of her pussy. He noticed how her breath seemed to be holding tight in her lungs, how her moans seem to change as her throat grew tighter.

  
But what he did not notice is that his fuckmate was already putting in motion her plot to escape. Bulma let her knees slide beneath her and flattened her thighs to the slippery floor. She disengaged from him, let his hard cock flip up from her pussy and slap him in the belly. Just as quickly as she was on her back he found his way into her again. She gave a cry so primal and so ripe that Vegeta placed his hand over her mouth to silence the call to the ape in him, the Saiyan in him, the warrior in him. In that moment of re-penetration, Vegeta wanted nothing but her complete annihilation, to conquer, to slay, these were the thoughts that kept him distracted just long enough for Bulma’s fingers to find their way to his nipples and squeeze.

  
Like a bolt of lightning, the sensation of the hard pinch to his nipples shocked Vegeta down to his balls. His ki welled up and overturned. He let out a roar as his cock let loose a pulse that propelled his cum hard into her pussy. “HA!” She gasped out in victory, but there was something Vegeta had not told her, something different about the after effects of Saiyan sexual pleasure: his cum was not only plentiful, it was overwhelmingly so, and carried with it something that seemed to push all the sensation in the nerves of the area it occupied to the max. Bulma’s victory was short lived as her pussy, in its exuberance to drink it all in, began to harden and suddenly break in a sudden, strong orgasm, spasming strong all around his cock, allowing his cum to slip deep, deep into her womb until it too began to flex and squeeze as she became absolutely saturated with his cum. “My prince, my Prince Vegeta.” She purred, lost in an otherworldly calm that came after such a crushing orgasm, “You’re my prince.”

  
“The victory is yours, My . . . My Bulma.” Vegeta answered as he placed his mouth to her breast, suckling as his ki enveloped them both.


	2. Morning after

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a passion fueled night with their once sworn enemy, how will Bulma face the Z Fighters (and her parents) as they arrive for their morning coffee?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not much sex in this part - just some extra bonus filler that I had written and never included in the original story ;) Enjoy!

                                                                 ***

 

 

But this was not the end of game between them.

 

“You made me cum too quickly and I am not yet satisfied.”  Vegeta said, raising to his knees as Bulma stood to wrap a towel around herself.  He nuzzled his head into the rough towel covering the small of her back, rubbing his face down the round arch of her ass as if he could use his cheek to lick and taste the skin beneath, “I want more.”

 

And against all better judgement, Bulma made no attempt to stop the proud Saiyan prince from following on hands and knees back to her bedroom, and attempted no small talk as he crouched below her, just beyond the hem of the towel, poised, waiting for the towel to drop before thrusting his mouth to her sex and taking a long, luxurious lap of the two small nubs that covered her sex, parting them with a deep stroke of his tongue.  He brought his forearms up under her thighs and pressed them against her ass, bringing her forward, his mouth diving deeper into her pussy, a deep hum vibrating through his chest and throat and lips and into her body as he tasted the sweet prize of his persistence.

 

And this time, Bulma did not fight it.  She instead let his skilled and hungry tongue to bring her to orgasm before allowing this conqueror of planets to conquer her flesh again and again with his ever hard and ready cock.  He was not gentle or timid.  He did not cloud his need for fucking with small talk or awkward requests for critiques on his performance.  He was ruthless and inexhaustible, ecstatic and creative in his use of different positions and rhythms, thorough and utterly satisfying, unlike any lover she had ever had before. 

 

And in the morning, Bulma was awakened by a brilliantly beautiful and warm yellow sun. 

 

It was odd feeling, because she was so used to waking early in the morning while it was still dark, before her father or mother or any well-meaning Capsule Corp employee had the chance to take over the lab, but beside her slept a real life experiment of sorts—Proud Prince Vegeta, asshole, vicious adversary to one of her best friends . . . friendless loner, quiet, brooding, heavily scarred, one of the only two remaining of his race, no planet to call home, heir to a throne that no longer existed.  He was sleeping on his side, naked except for a blanket laid over his flank, turned away from her, still deep in sleep which she knew to be unusual for him as well.  How many times had they passed each other in the early morning hours in the hallway, she on her way to the lab, he on his way to the gravity room.  She thought of all the times she’d tried so hard just to get some peep of acknowledgement from him—he was right, she had thrust herself in front of him shamelessly and found it only answered by a nod here and there, with he passing by silently, without even so much as a glance her way . . . and now . . . he was in her bed . . . rolling over onto his back . . . tucking his rock-hard arm underneath the great glorious mass of his very non-human hair, nuzzling it, making little humming sounds in his sleep, just as he had when . . . 

 

     Bulma quickly slid on her panties and nightgown and ran out of her room.  She stood with her back on the door and her hand over her heart, eyes wide, panting, positively freaking out.  “Oh my god oh my god oh my god!!  OH. MY. GOD!!”  She said as all the gritty details of the night before flashed through her mind, “WHAT THE HELL WAS I THINKING?!  VEGETA OF ALL PEOPLE!!”

 

     “Ah-ha I knew it!”

  
     “MO—mother !!”  Bulma barked out in a tight throated screech, “Wha-what are you doing down here? A-a-at this time of day?!”

 

     “The kitchen’s this way, but apparently that’s not the hottest place in this house!”  She said as she slid in close to her daughter. 

 

     “No, no it is totally not what you think.”  Bulma said, reading the glee in her mother’s face as plainly as if she would have said _I told you so_ , “Look, I don’t know what the hell happened but—“

 

     “Oh I got a pretty good idea of what happened.”  She said with a wink, “And it’s about time too.  You’re almost 30 you know, and still unmarried such a shame for such a pretty girl.”

 

     Bulma gritted her teeth.  “I am not just this pretty thing, mother.  There is so much more to me than that and you know it.”  She said, funneling her inner catty rage into the pile of blonde curls piled high on her mother’s head as she sashayed by in her tight jeans and tied off top.  “Mother?  Mother don—how can you just walk off like that when it’s pretty obvious I’m on the verge of a nervous breakdown?!”

 

     “Your father’s waiting for his coffee and I’m not about to make him wait!”

 

     “But I . . . don’t . . . just . . . UGH!!”  She said, pressing the button to open the door to her room, pausing briefly as her eyes met Vegeta’s, who was sitting up in bed, rubbing his head, looking just as confused and awkward as Bulma as she flashed a cheesy smile and grabbed her pink fuzzy bathrobe from its hanger before disappearing behind the door again.  She tip-toed down the hall away from her bedroom and down to the kitchen where her mother was busy guess-pecking buttons to her custom coffee maker.

 

     Bulma swallowed the lump in her throat.  “Ok.  Ok you know what? We did it.” She said as if confessing to one of Kami’s priests, “You were right, there’s no use in trying to hide it from you now.  I had sex with Vegeta.  There.  Just listen to me tell you how right you were and how wrong I was and how I’ve just made the biggest mistake in the history of mistakes.”

 

     “Umm hmm.  Shocking.  Shocking I say.”  Mrs. Briefs replied as she measured out the coffee grounds.  “Young man, muscles like a statue, always around, completely oblivious to you, headstrong and stubborn . . . and good looking I might add . . . mind always on his training.  Reminds me of someone else in this house that’s stubborn, good looking, mind always on her work and never on her relationships, who can’t stand being oblivious to someone of the opposite sex.”

 

     “Bullsh—bullshit mother!”  She said, hushing herself as her father rattled his newspaper, “You know, Yamcha and I . . . we still have kind of a relationship going on.”

 

     Bulma’s mother gave a little snort, “Oh come on even I know that man is a joke.”  She said, fitting the container for the coffee grounds to the top of the machine.  “Besides what kind of a relationship is a kind of relationship?  That man’s a little gay if you ask me.”

 

     “Yamcha is not gay !!! he’s just a little awkward around girls that’s all.”  Bulma whined, “Mother seriously what . . . what are you trying to do with this?” she said as she watched her mother struggle with the kitchen control panel.

 

     “Making the coffee.”

 

     “You don’t know the first thing about running this machine mother let me do that.”

 

     “Oh no my dear it sounds as though you had a very busy night last night so allow me!”  Mrs. Briefs said at a noticeably louder level.

 

     “Busy night?  Doing what?”  Mr. Briefs said from behind his newspaper, “Are you working on a new invention?”

 

     Bulma glared at her mother.  She snatched the empty carafe from her hand poured a bit of salt on the bottom.  “It’s nothing dad, mom’s just making a joke.” She said as she rinsed and filled the pot.

 

     Mrs. Briefs peeped over her daughter’s shoulder and whispered, “So how was he?  Was he good?”

 

     “Shut up mom and stop being so gross!!!”

 

     “Honey you’re an adult, you’d think we could talk about these things by now!”  She said as her daughter calibrated the meticulously designed coffee machine, “You’re packing that wrong!  With this coffee you have to grind it over there.”

 

     “MOTHER I MADE THIS MACHINE!! I DO THIS EVERY MORNING NOW—now will you please just . . . just—“

 

     “Ok, ok, you do you, you do the thing you’re best at.”  She said, patting her hands in the air, “No but seriously was he real beast because he kind of looks like he would be.”

 

     “SHUT. UP!!!!!” 

 

     “Bulma!”  said her father scolded as he folded the newspaper in his hand, “How could you speak to your sweet mother that way?”  but before he could scold any further, Dr. Briefs caught sight of a small speck of something flying through the sky in the window beside him.  “Oh, looks like the Z fighters are headed this way.”

 

     “Always right on time for coffee.”  Said Bulma’s mother as she sat down beside her husband.  “And speaking of being on time, where’s Mr. Vegeta?  It’s very, very unusual for the Z fighters to arrive before he gets to the kitchen.  Why, he’s usually the very first person down here, he never misses coffee when you make it or haven’t you noticed that?”

 

     Bulma kept the roll of her eyes to herself as she faced the coffee machine and pulled the sash of her robe a little tighter around her body.  She felt her stomach turn as she heard the sound of feet touching down to the patio outside, her nerves nearly jumping out of her skin as she heard the voice of Yamcha sharing a light hearted chuckle with Krillin as they came through the door.  “Ha ha you should have seen the look on that old geezer’s face when I told him that was Oolong!”  Yamcha said as he slapped Krillin on the back, “It was just like that movie, err, umm, what was it called?”

 

     Krillin gave a knowing smile, “Yeah, that movie.  I know what you’re talking about.”

 

     “Yeah, that one!”

 

     “Somehow I think that would have just made it more exciting to him, you know, if he would have found out the old fashioned way.”

 

     “HAHAHAH you are so right!!”  Yamcha said as he pulled up a seat on the other side of Dr. Briefs, “Good morning Mom, Dad ha ha” he said, making finger guns, “ . . . how is everything?”

 

     “Good, good Mr. Yamcha.”  Bulma’s mother replied with a patronizing giggle.

 

     “What time’s the big Capsule Corp company function?  It’s this Friday, isn’t it?”

 

     “Friday at 8.”  Bulma replied distantly as she set their cups out on the table.

 

     “Am I picking you up?”

 

     “Oh I don’t know Yamcha, we can’t really expect you to pick up much of anything on your own now can we.”  Vegeta said as he turned the corner to the dining hall, tugging his gloves to fit them snug over his fingers, a killing look in his eyes.  “And if you took the last of the coffee you’ll be picking it up off the floor with your tongue!”

 

     “Relax, Mr. Vegeta, the coffee just got done!”  Mrs. Briefs replied cheerfully.

 

      “I’m only just now putting it out.” Bulma said as she pressed the button to finish the cycle on the machine. 

 

     “Oh maybe not just now putting it out.”  Mrs. Brief’s said with a giggle and a snort.

 

     Bulma paused with the carafe in her hand, silently hissing at her mother with her narrowed eyes.  She cleared her throat and touched the coffee pot down to her mother’s cup, then her father’s, then Yamcha’s and Krillin’s, and as soon as theirs were filled she remembered that she had not set a cup out for herself or Vegeta, but as quickly as she closed her eyes to curse herself she was pleasantly surprised by the fact that Vegeta had thoughtfully retrieved two cups for the both of them, although he did so with a pout on his face, gloved fist tucked up under his jaw, Saiyan eyes sliding back and forth between staring at her and glaring at Yamcha.  “So yeah, company function, this Friday, 8pm.”  She said as she poured their cups.  

 

     “Is it formal dress?” asked Yamcha.

 

     “It isn’t formal dress but I wouldn’t show up in your Gi.”  She replied, replacing the carafe on the machine.  “It’s really just a chance for the employees to hang out, have some fun, listen to some music, and eat a lot of good food.  We’ve hired a live DJ and we’re catering in from some of the best restaurants in South City.”

 

     “We did really well this quarter so now it’s time for the Brief’s family to give back.”  Dr. Briefs said as he lit up another cigarette.

 

     “Are you going, Mr. Vegeta?” Mrs. Briefs asked.

 

     Vegeta paused in the middle of raising the coffee cup to his lips, giving a quick glance to Mrs. Briefs, Krillin and Yamcha before answering.  “Not my idea of a good time.”

 

     “Oh come on!  It’s fun!  A great way to really strut your stuff.  Bulma’s going to be there you know.” She said, tying the two of them together with her eyes. 

 

     “I have training to keep up with, which is what I thought the two of you would be doing as well . . . _At_ Master Roshi’s house.”  He said, directing his words to the monk and the desert bandit on the other side of the table.

 

   Mrs. Briefs interjected, “Bulma dearie you could wear that lovely bunny getup you used to wear when you would ‘train’ with the boys over at Master Roshi’s, that was always a sexy little number!”

 

     “oh my god mother will you please stop.”  Bulma said, holding her head. 

 

     Krillin arched his eyebrows and paused the slow travel of his coffee cup to his lips.   “Huh well any way, I don’t see the point in going to this function if I don’t have a date so I’m probably just going to stay home.”

 

     “Well it’s not like Mr. Personality over there is going to have a date.”  Yamcha said, elbowing Krillin gently in the ribs.  “If he’s going, you won’t be the only one without.”

 

     “I’m not going.  I told you, I have training to do.”  Vegeta said, pausing to savor Bulma’s coffee, “Unlike you, I have a high regard for my own . . . commitments.”

 

     Yamcha shot up from his chair and slammed both hands down on the table, “Now what’s THAT supposed to mean?!”

 

     “Come on Yamcha, he’s not worth it.”  Krillin said, pushing on his friend with both hands planted in his abdomen.  “Let’s get back to Master Roshi’s before he makes us clean the turtle box again.”

 

     “Yes, hop a long, Yamcha.”  Vegeta said with a wicked smile over the rim of his coffee cup. “And try not to die somewhere along the way.”

 

     Krillin shot Vegeta a look before both men flew off through the open patio window. 

 

    “Huh. Well. It’s a beautiful day outside today.  I think I’ll take my coffee out to the flower bed.  Mr. Dearie Dr. Briefs would you like to join me?”

 

     “No I have this darn gyro issue with the Capsule Corp spacecraft I have to deal with so I guess I best go to the garage.”  Dr Briefs said as he slapped his newspaper to the table.  He stood and poked his hands into his lab coat, extinguishing his cigarette before giving his daughter a loving kiss on the head.  “Whatever project you’re working on, I can’t wait to see the outcome!  You’ve always made your father very proud.”

 

     Dr. Briefs and Mrs. Briefs went through the kitchen door and departed in opposite directions from each other, leaving Bulma alone, cradling her head, awash in feelings of relief and guilt, with a silent, sour looking Vegeta on the other end of the table, who she only just began to notice was dressed in brilliant blue and gold and white.  “Why are you wearing your Saiyan Armor, anyways?”  She managed to say after they were both nearly at the end of their cups.

 

     “I’m taking my training back outside again.”  He said, “Out in the real environment of this planet.”

 

     “Oh.  Well could you please—“ she said as he took to the window and flew outside, “--NOT ROLL AROUND IN THE GRASS WHERE THE FLEAS ARE?!”


	3. Tension in the home of the Briefs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keep reading - the smut is in there, I promise ;)

__

      Vegeta raised his gloved hand, felt the ki tingle through the tips of his fingers and down into the hollow of his palm.  He focused on the pillar of rock in the distance, visualizing as the power began to rise through his forearm, the contorted face of Nappa, how he begged for mercy; how disappointing that such a mountain of a Saiyan would be felled as easily as a mound of sand by an idiot.  An idiot.  A Saiyan idiot, but still a mere idiot.  And there were more idiots, one that had, in fact, presented himself earlier in the morning with his smarmy finger pointing and terrible jokes . . . the scars on his face . . . his height, the way he bragged about his conquests when Bulma wasn’t around . . . Bulma . . . Vegeta felt a surge of power race up his arm.  He felt the ghost of her fingers pull at the base of his scalp, her soft belly sliding up his abdomen as she arched her back, the strong, wet depths, the intoxicating movement of her kiss swelled blush lips as she softly mouthed the words _My Prince_ and all at once his gathering power rushed up into his mind, grabbing hold of the momentum of his lust and turned it back out his arm as a blast of ki the likes of which Vegeta had never seen.  It hit the rock pillar with such force that it disintegrated, turning the once hulking rock into nothing but pebbles and grit. 

 

     Vegeta hovered over the rubble and stared down in disbelief.  Typically, it would take a gaitlin gun or planet breaker to do the sort of damage he was seeing, but to destroy a 2 ton pillar of slate with a simple ki blast?  He lowered himself until his boots met the earth.  He dropped to his knee, reached down and ran his hand through the silt and ground it lightly in his palm.  Without a second thought he blasted off through the sky, testing his agility against the remaining rock pillars, bouncing off of them with punishing kicks that beheaded some and tilted others.  He shot straight up into the air, rising until he could feel the atmosphere growing thin and cold, chest forward, balled fists to the side.  _How’s it hangin’ mom, dad ha ha!_         

 

          _You cum first, you’re mine_

 

     Vegeta turned his body upside down and rushed shoulder first into a flat plane of rock, forming a crater around himself, the power of his impact vibrating and shaking the now battle-worn pillars.  Pain rippled through his body in a wave that was as momentary as his ability to focus.  He pounded his fists a few times into the ground.  He got up on his own two feet and stood in the center of his self-made crater, charging up his ki as high as it would go.  He grunted and growled, felt the aura of fire rise all around him.  In the hollows of his hair he could feel the power tingling with the tease of transformation to the Super Saiyan form that idiot had so flagrantly waved in front of his face, Kakarot the lowly soldier, his royal blood spilled, bitten by earth vermin, _Servant girl! Where is my armor!_ Then like a short in the panels of his space pod the light of his aura suddenly extinguished.  Small rocks that had been swept up in the path of his power fell back down to the shallow crater.  He gasped through the sudden letdown, confused.  Why?  Why today?  Why should he feel so close, so energized, yet have so little focus as to sustain it?  Why would such conflicting thoughts crowd his mind?  What had happened in the night before to leave his ki so fresh and raw that stone would turn to dust so easily under the might of his energy?  Deep inside, the answer lurked with him skin to skin with green curls and the wicked glint of conquest in its eyes.  The answer did not at all sit well with his pride. 

 

     So when Vegeta returned to Capsule in the evening, he stuck to his own.  He did not join the Briefs for their evening meal, he did not move through the halls when any hint of footsteps could be heard.  And in the morning when he could smell the roasting scent of coffee making its way through the air from the kitchen to the gravity room, he turned the gravity up a little higher, ignoring the slight ache in his head from the absence of her poison. 

 

     “Very unlike him.  Very, very unlike him.  You should go check on him.”  Mrs. Briefs said to her daughter as she gathered the dishes from breakfast and put them in the sink.  “Maybe he’s busted himself up again and he’s too stubborn to say anything about it.  Wouldn’t be the first time.”

 

     “He’s an adult.”  Bulma said as she placed her thumb on the lighted power switch to the coffee machine, “If he wanted it, he should have come.”

 

     Mrs. Briefs drew up the corner of her mouth.  Instead of spitting out the easy joke, she took mercy on her daughter and left her alone in the kitchen with her thumb still on the power button, still as a statue, lost in thought.  It _was_ very much like him . . . to stay away, stick to himself, to avoid everyone and haunt the hallways like a ghost.  It was very much like him to withdraw at the first threat of him being exposed as anything less than what he projected himself to be—a hardened Saiyan warrior, foreign to needs and feelings, devoid of softness, an enemy of kindness, 100% dedicated to being the most powerful of all the Z warriors, and it was because of this that Bulma felt a tiny bit of guilt gnawing at her deep inside.  She had never really meant to throw a monkey wrench into his routine, but in the days that followed the washroom incident, it was obvious that he was not completely unaffected by their encounter.  He moved like a shadow through the house, stealing food from the kitchen like a raccoon, emptying the lukewarm coffee karafe of its contents after it had sat around long enough to be undrinkable.  Several times she found herself at his door with her hand raised and ready to knock, yet she rescinded each time.  Perhaps it was best to leave well enough alone.  What was done was done.

 

     The only problem with leaving well enough alone was that, no matter how hard she tried to bury herself the work of her own--no matter how many hours were spent in the lab or in the garage with her father . . . no matter how much time and money was spent at the mall looking for pretty things to take her mind off of what had happened, she could not. Stop. Thinking . . . about the way he’d grabbed her and pulled her into the tub, the intense hunger in his eyes, the gutteral sound of his voice in her ear as he took her from behind, the sweet taste of his breath as he whispered _My Bulma_ into her gasping mouth.  Many times she had returned to the washroom and felt an odd twinge of disappointment that he was not already there, sitting in the washtub, arms folded, a pouty, expectant, arrogant look on his smug face.  But what good did obsessing about it do?  So what if they shared a night of fucking, a girl would have to be batshit crazy to think he could even remotely be considered relationship material.  The only person Vegeta had ever seemed to have formed any kind of relationship to was with someone he vehemently hated, so what good did it do . . . for her . . . to wish . . . to visualize him standing on the other side of her door, waiting to knock . . .

 

     But more and more the doors to the gravity room were on almost constant lockdown.  Every day the sound of the anti-gravity generator became louder, more pronounced.  The strain on the Capsule Corp building became evident in the flickering lights and blown fuses.  “You need to tell him to turn that thing down a little.” Dr Briefs groused impatiently as he entered Bulma’s lab to mess with the fuse box again, “If he keeps this up the gravity room may become unstable and implode.  You have some dealings with the man, why don’t you talk to him about it?”

 

     “Hmph!  I have just as many ‘dealings’ with him as anyone else around here.”  She replied as she crossed her arms and tucked her chin up.  “Let the room implode on him!  Maybe then he’ll get it!”

 

     “You sure are a tough one, you know that?”  Dr. Briefs said as he replaced the fuses in the box and slammed it shut.  “One of these days you’re gonna meet up with someone tougher and wooooooo nelly, when that happens--!” he said with a wink, pointing his wrench at her. 

 

     Bulma rolled her eyes as Dr. Briefs’ turned his back and exited the room.  She planted her elbows on the lab control station and perched her lovely head within her open palms.  She gave a sigh as her index finger tapped lightly against the communication button.  She pressed it down hard and selected gravity room as the destination, and in seconds the image of Vegeta spinning hypnotically in the red light came flashing up on the holographic screen.  “Stop it Vegeta!! What is wrong with you?! What the hell do you think you’re doing to yourself?”

 

     “Getting ready . . . for the androids . . . who will annihilate . . . your world . . . in less than . . . three years!”  He snapped back in spurts as he turned.

 

     “You are going to break yourself if you don’t knock it off!!  Then what use will you be?!”  She said as he suddenly lost his ability to stay afloat, crashing violently down to the gravity room floor.  “Hmph or maybe you are trying to break yourself so that when Goku comes back, he can clean the Androids up on his own just like he did with—“

 

     “LEAVE ME ALONE!!!” Vegeta spat out and Bulma quick discontinued the communication.  Every stray fantasy she’d had of him seemed to spontaneously combust and burn her up inside.  She was furious with herself that she had ever let that man occupy even a single solitary second of her headspace.  What kind of desperate idiot would fuck the houseguest?  What kind of weak, pathetic little girl would fall for whole line about wanting to be desired?  Bulma fucking Briefs, that’s who! A thirty year old, unmarried, unappreciated, ‘genius’ scientist who had actually felt guilty for taking advantage of the poor, misunderstood loner, UGH!

 

     It was 11 o’clock at night before Bulma let her sense of self disgust boil over to such a point that she marched down the hallway to Vegeta’s room and pounded on the door.  “Go away.”  He said, without even asking who it was.  Bulma knocked on the door again, more impatiently this time, adding strength enough to her hand to make it sound more serious.  “I said GO AWAY I’M READY FOR SLEEP!!!” But Bulma had the keycard to every room in the Capsule corp building, including Vegeta’s bedroom, and his rude response only made her more unafraid to slap the keycard against the panel lock. 

 

     Vegeta sat bolt upright in bed.  His hair stood up in straight spikes, eyes wide.  “How dare you I . . . I’m not clothed!!”

 

     Bulma’s eyes narrowed.  She climbed on top of him in the bed and pinned his hands, which had already been under the blanket, to either side of his hips beneath her smooth knees.  “We need to talk.”  She said, crossing her arms as she sat down, “You have been really, really obnoxious lately about this whole wanting to be the best thing.  I understand you have this rivalry going on, and I understand how you feel like Goku hasn’t paid you the respect that you deserve, but I really wish YOU would show the respect my FAMILY shows in allowing you to stay in this house.  You know on my planet, it’s kind of a big deal to be taken in by a fabulously wealthy family, and most people would be careful not to endanger that kind of arrangement.”

 

     Vegeta turned his head to the side.

 

     “Look, what happened between me and you was just a thing, it’s really not a big deal. So we had sex.  So what?  You don’t have to avoid me.  It’s not like I have some expectation of you now that we’ve done it!”  She said, her expression growing meaner, “I’m running out of excuses to give my parents for all the crazy fucked up things you do.  Dad is on my case every single day about the gravity room, and what do I tell mom when she asks what happened to all the leftovers?  I can’t keep blaming it on the Namekians, especially since none of them eat meat!  You need to either man up and join us for dinner or—“

 

     “Man up?  Oh yes, let me dial it down to ‘human’ so your parents stop looking for the cold meatloaf”

 

     “Ugh NO!!  Look, you see here!!”  She said, pressing her knees a little harder into his palms as she leaned forward, planting one hand beside his head so she could use the other to point her finger in his face, “That is a GRAVITY machine out there, Vegeta!!  It puts out tremendous amount of force to emulate the gravity of a planet much larger than our own, do you have any idea what could happen to the house *I* live in if the containment field were to fail?!  Every time you hit the floor in there it’s like someone dropped a bomb in our yard and it’s all because you have this sick, overbearing need to prove yourself!  You say it’s because you’re getting ready for the androids but you don’t give a damn about this planet or any of its people, you just want someone to hand you your little crown and sash and call you king of the universe!!”

 

     “Not king.”  Vegeta muttered as his cheeks lit up a scarlet shade of red.

 

     “Ok, that was a little low of me.”  She said, pressing her hand against her chest, “What I mean is that you do all this stuff for accolades but all you’re really doing is being a fuckboy.  Do you know what a fuckboy is Vegeta?  A fuckboy is someone who does things only to benefit them and doesn’t respect or give a damn about anyone else around them and I just happened to think that the Prince of All Saiyans would be better than that!”

 

     Vegeta kept the side of his turned face pressed to the pillow.  He glanced up to the beautiful woman sitting on his body, and in a voice that was unusually calm and quiet for him said, “Do you think I’m worthy of respect?” 

 

    Bulma sat back and tucked her hands beneath her armpits.  She turned her head to the side and pressed her bottom against him a little more firmly than she had before. 

 

     “Do you think I’m worthy of respect enough not to be barged in on while I’m trying to . . . “  he said, pressing his hips up just enough to make her rise.  “. . . keep my distance . . . the best way I can?”

 

     “What do you mean?”  She said, and Vegeta pressed his hips upwards again, closing his eyes as he relished the feeling of the pressure between their bodies.  “Wait, were you . . . umm?”  She said as she began to pay more attention to the hard bump beneath the blanket directly below her crotch.  “haha Vegeta did I . . . catch you in the middle of something?”

 

     “The needs of the body.”  Vegeta growled, letting go of the tension in his body with an exsasperated sigh, “Listen, if you’re quite done chastising me, I need to get some sleep.  It’s hard enough waking up in the morning without your cursed coffee to keep me going.”

 

     “No no no no no you’re not avoiding me on this one.  Were you . . . playing with yourself before I came in?”

 

     “I was attempting to release sexual tension.”  Vegeta said between his clenched teeth, “Which I would not have had to do if you hadn’t thrown me into such a state to begin with . . . and now I’m just . . . caught up in this cycle . . . where I lust and I just . . . can’t . . . I just can’t relieve myself, no matter what I do.”

 

     “So . . . you’ve tried?”  she said, shifting her knees around in little circles.

 

     “I . . . I don’t want to talk about it.”  He said, swallowing the lump in his throat.

 

     “Well alright but . . . ”  Bulma said as she raised her fingers to the little pink buttons on her pajama top and one by one began pushing them through their holes.  “We talked about it, and we agreed . . . it was sex and nothing more, right?”  she said, parting the sides of her pajama top to reveal her breasts before snaking her arms out of the sleeves to lose it altogether. 

 

     “R-right.”  He said, drinking in the sight of her soft, white breasts. 

 

     “Well who am I to interrupt your attempt to . . . get in touch . . . with your way of coping, huh?”  She said as she leaned so far backwards that her shoulders touched the bed.  “I have lust of my own to cope with, you know.”  She said as she slid her hand down her belly, fingers diving beneath the elastic waistband of her pink pajamas and strawberry-patterned underwear, middle finger gliding down into sex.

 

     “I was already so close.”  He said as he brought his hand to his cock unseen beneath the covers, “Woman you can’t ask this of me.”

 

     “Vegeta . . . “  She said in that dreamy, orgasmic way that was like a match set to the fuse for the energy in his body, igniting him all the way through with a heady, potent eroticism that extinguished all traces of exhaustion.  With a smooth motion Vegeta slid his naked body out from under the covers.  He took the elastic band of her pajama pant in his hands and pulled them off, panties and all until she lay unclothed at the foot of his bed.  She let out a sound of fright as his hand slammed down into the pillow beside her, knees knocking hard into her ass, urging her in some instinctual, unspoken way to spread her legs wider.  He lowered his mouth until his lips were poised just above her right nipple, until his breath rolled out hot and humid against it.  Suddenly he snatched her nipple up with his teeth, biting down with firm force until he could hold it with the suction of his mouth.  She gave a little cry through her constricted throat.  She stroked her clit urgently until Vegeta allowed her breast to drop from his mouth.  He gave a laugh as she moaned in dismay, then snapped up the other nipple, shaking her breast like a dog would shake a toy, sucking her nipple so hard that she could feel it touching the roof of his mouth.  Bulma frantically stroked her pussy.  She felt the slow, steady stream of precum from Vegeta’s cock drip down cool and thick to its entrance and the tease was almost more than she could bear.  She bucked her hips upwards beneath him, wet and ready for him to penetrate, to deliver her from the torment she had been writhing in all week, but Vegeta was never the one to go for the easy kill.  The smell of her, the sight of her, the sound of her would make either one of them cumming all too easy, so again Vegeta found himself abiding his time.  He ran his rough hand down the line from her sternum to her belly all the way down until his fingers met blue curls and wet flesh.  He tested her pussy with his fingertips until he found the place where he could plunge his fingers in deep, making her howl in pleasure, but before she could bring herself to climax, Vegeta withdrew his fingers.  He looked deep into her eyes and renewed his wicked smile, wrapping his wet fingers around his cock.  He relished the feeling of the wetness of her sex.  He enjoyed a delicious twist of his fist as he brought it up the length of his shaft, the sound of her gently chanting _oh god oh god_ signaling how close she was to the end.  He took the hand that had been buried in the pillow and tucked it under her neck, and as her breath broke and held within her throat, as her pussy tensed and squeezed beneath him, as her head rolled back and a look of ecstasy washed over her face, he brought her gently upright.  He gave three furious strokes to his cock and shot his long gathering load of cum all over her neck and tits and sternum and belly.  He placed his hand on her face and licked the small spatter of semen that had made it to her check and plunged it into her mouth with his tongue,  “That . . . is why . . . you don’t interrupt me . . . in the middle of the night . . . when I’m trying . . . to take . . . care of business.”  He said.

 

     “That’s exactly why I interrupt you.”  She purred as she brought her hands behind his neck, “Fuckboy.”         


	4. At work

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not much smut in this one. Vegeta's sexual frustration continues, but Bulma has work to do!

Bulma tilted her head back, her eyes lightly shut.  She listened to the sound of her own breathing, felt the blood pressure rising in her veins.  She adjusted her knees in a little tighter, sat up higher but pressed her pelvis down lower, pupils dancing thoughtfully under her eyelids.  Her mind wandered through blackness of space.  _Space.  Time.  Matter.  That golden, far off goal.  A far away exploding star.  Rhythm, pace,_ little sounds escaped as her lips parted, head bobbling slightly, her senses beginning to swim, _Speed, light, time, distance, transcendence . . . transcendence . . ._ “Goku!”  she whispered, and with a gasp she straightened her thighs and raised up, freeing Vegeta’s face from its suffocating position beneath her pussy.  “I just thought of something!!!”  She blurted out as Vegeta sank his claws into her thighs in his startle, “What if Goku’s instant transmission technique could be used for time travel?”

     Vegeta’s face turned a bright, deep red.  His hair bristled, his eyes rolled, his brows knitted so hard together that they wrinkled the flesh between them.  “Tch how can you . . . why are you thinking of Kakarot at a time like this?!” 

     “Sorry it’s just . . . sometimes ideas come to me at odd moments, and when they do . . . “ she said, standing up, “I have to act on them, quick!!” 

     “Wha-what are you . . . you’re not even going to finish?!?!”  He said as she quickly went through the clothes in her dresser, “Was I of so little interest to you that you could just STOP in the middle of a mating act?!”

     “Well don’t take it personally I mean, it’s not like you weren’t doing a great job!!”  Bulma said as she pulled her panties all the way up to her hips, “But it’s past 8 o’clock and we’re having a few agents from North City drop by today for a future tech meeting, and I know they’d be willing to invest like mondo amounts of money in this theory if I could produce enough data to support it.  We can pick up on this later.”

     “LATER?!”  Vegeta said as he jumped up from the floor.  He balled both fists, letting one damning finger flick out to point at his cock, “I’M HARD NOW!!!”

     “Umm hmm yes, yes you are.”  She said with a mischievous smile as she kissed the side of his face near the ear, “and I’m wet.  And I will be all day until you and I can get together . . . later . . . after my meetings.”

     “Well how long will that be?!”

     “Around 11.”

     “I . . . but . . . tch!!!!”

     “That’s after breakfast but not quite lunch.”  She said in a playfully exasperated tone, “I know you’re still grasping earth concepts of time.”

     “Having a hard time grasping earth’s concepts of anything.”  He said, tucking his hands under his armpits as he sat down on the edge of Bulma’s bed. 

     “Oh come on, you know you love it.”  She said bending over at the waist until her shoulder knocked into his, pushing him gently back onto the mattress.  “and maybe when I get back . . . “  she said, wrapping her lips around the head of his cock and sucking on it until it moved in a little deeper, her soft tongue cradling the shaft as it sank a little lower into her throat, the very tip of it becoming firm as she licked all the way up the bottom until it his cock emerged from her mouth with a pop, “I’ll return the favor in full.”

     Vegeta panted through the new, intense sensation—a new thing to lust for, a new thing to obsess over and consume the mindspace reserved for his training.  “When I was dead,” he said as she nuzzled her cheek against his cock, “I stood before King Yemma.  Beyond his great desk lay open the doors to the otherword, and beyond that, I saw the people of Hell.  Are you sure you are not one of them?”

     Bulma winked her answer and gave a giggle.  She tossed Vegeta his clothes and zipped up her Capsule Corp jumpsuit.  “Be ready for me.  I’ll see you after the meetings!”

 

***

Bulma entered the meeting room and made eye contact with her already beleaguered father.  North City had sent military men instead of scientists, which meant they had already begun drilling Dr. Briefs for more capsule weapons—deadlier, faster, more compact.  She took a seat beside her father, blushing as her weight pressed a wet spot into her seat with a definite squish.  “We know that Capsule Corp has the talent, the intelligence and the ingenuity to do this,” said an older man with many medals adorning the breast of his military uniform, “We have developed this weapon as far as we can and we need your help to finish it.  We know the threat from space to be real, and so do the citizens thanks to the very public antics of the spacemen who leveled nearby east city.  Many of them have expressed doubt that we could ever overcome a power such as theirs.  This weapon could easily restore the public’s faith in our ability to defend our planet should these men choose to return.”

     “And we didn’t just focus on High-powered,” Said the other, younger soldier among them, “We needed a weapon that would be high tech and innovative, not just a projectile, but something else, something that would deliver the same type of energy bursts as these spacemen seem capable of producing.”  He said as he signaled the third soldier to present the case that was handcuffed to his wrist.  “This is only a prototype.”  He said as he unlocked the case and lifted the lid, revealing a strange, smooth, silvery weapon.  “This weapon is capable of delivering bursts of energy at 5 million parts per millimeter, but …” he said as he clicked a few buttons on his smart device to project a video on the wall, “We’ve also found . . . that while the power was relatively easy to condense, it was not so easy to keep cool.”  He said as the video portrayed the silvery charge gun melting or exploding after every impressive shot.  “and that’s why we turn to you, Dr. Briefs.  We know energy weapons are the future, but we need to find a way to safely contain the discharge _and_ capsulize it.  Can this be done?” 

       “Hmmm, well . . . weapons are not my best focus.” Dr. Briefs said as he took a long drag off his cigarette, “My daughter Bulma is developing most of our new capsules, and I must say, she is much more forward-thinking in regards to weapons development than I am.  And as far as the spacemen go, she has had some dealings with the—OOF!”  Dr. Brief’s coughed as Bulma stomped down on his foot unseen under the table.  “I mean I say she ummm . . . she saw the news reel that night that showed the spacemen I didn’t see it I don’t stay up that late ha ha.”  He said, rubbing the top of his foot with the other.  “Bulma, darling what say you?”

     

     Before Bulma had even cleared her throat to speak, all three of the men from the North City militia made some subtle gesture to share their discontent.  They leaned back in their chairs.  They rolled their eyes.  They turned their heads or propped their faces upon their hands as if readying themselves to listen to an idiot speak.  “Capsulizing an object is never a problem, the problem is that you think you have a solid design that just needs a little tweak but let me assure you gentleman that this is not the case.  It’s a poor design, period.  Energy containment should not bend around the traditional shape of a gun or its handle.  If you think that you can condense 5 million parts of energy per milliliter into the stock or handle part of a handgun, you’re going to end up with a lot of men with missing eyes or hands.  Even if we made a weapon the size of an anti-aircraft cannon, it still may not be enough to contain the sort of power you are hoping to project in a safe or even usable manner.”  She said as the old man with the medals let a sigh out through his bulbous nose.  “What we should be focusing on is prevention, and I think I may have a way providing you with preventative measures that may save a lot of lives if implemented responsibly.”

     The men scoffed and chortled and exchanged sideways glances between their non-plussed faces.  “Miss Bulma, no offense, but these spacemen are clearly not interested in being best friends and going to the mall shopping with us.”  Said the younger soldier as the other men snickered.  “We need something that can kill them as easily as they can kill us.”

     “and I know for a fact that you’re not going to get it.”  Bulma cooly replied, “These spacemen as you call them possess energy levels that number well beyond 5 million and because of that, their bodies are built to withstand nearly any attack.  Even if we were to manufacture a hundred or a thousand of these guns, these spacemen could just as easily deflect the energy bursts right back to the shooter.  If we want to beat them, then we’re going to have to get craftier than that.”  She said as she took her phone from her pocket and began to type on the screen.

     “This is no time to get caught up on your texts, Miss Bulma.” The younger soldier sneered.

     Bulma lifted her eyes from her phone.  In a flash Goku appeared in the center of the room with two fingers to his brow and a cheerful smile on this face.  “Hey Bulma, what’s up!”

     “Son, can you go away and come back in 10 seconds?”  She said as the men in the room fell to the backs of their chairs in utter shock.

     “Well, ok.”  Goku said, retouching his forehead and disappearing in a flash.

     “I believe . . . that if we could find a way to travel to the past, we could prevent the spacemen from even landing on earth to begin with.”  She said, feeling her heart drop to her knees as she thought of both Goku and Vegeta in the brief seconds before Goku reappeared.  “Thanks Son.  Will you be free later today?”

     “Umm Chi Chi said I gotta take Gohan to meet his new tutor.”

     “So later today.” She growled.

     “Ha Ha yeah later today I guess.  See ya Bulma!”  And again Goku touched his fingers upon his forehead and disappeared.

     The younger soldier slowly arose from his chair.  “What th—what the hell was that?”

     “That, is the true future of defense.    If I can pick apart this instant transmission technique, then piercing the barrier of time would not be far behind.  These spacemen may have mastery over energy but if we have mastery over time, it would give us a distinct advantage.”

     “No.  That’s not good enough.”  The older, more decorated solider said as he raised dramatically from his chair, “So we obtain mastery over time, so what?  So we travel back a few years and warn ourselves of the danger, we still have no weapon to deter the spacemen—we didn’t then and we still don’t now.  We need something that can kill.”  He said as he planted his knuckles into the capsule corp desk.  He tapped a few buttons on his smart device, and to Bulma’s horror he projected a video of Vegeta emerging from his space pod, his wicked smile flashing just seconds before Nappa raised his hand and leveled the city with a tremendous energy blast.  “Do you really think that if we were to go back in time and ask this thing politely to leave, he’d do it?”  He said as the video showed Vegeta surveying the damage around him with his scouter.  “Do you really feel safe knowing that such a cold hearted, remorseless being is out there just waiting to strike our planet and destroy everything that we hold dear?  Think about it—he could rob you of your house and home, your livelihood here at Capsule Corp, your riches, your wealth, your neighborhood, your city!  I respect your desire to maintain a peaceful solution, Miss Bulma, but we cannot leave our defense to chance.  I must ask you again—can you improve upon this weapon design, or . . . should we leave that up to your competitor?”

     Bulma wrapped her arms around herself a little tighter.  She sank down in her chair, her eyes running over the sleek lines of the gun.  “Leave it here with me along with the schematics.  I’ll figure it out.”

     “That’s a good girl.”  The old general replied.  “I want an answer in 10 days, no more.” 

     The other two men from the North City Militia got up from their chairs.  They gave a salute in the direction of Dr. Briefs, then departed.  “What a bunch of creeps.” Dr. Briefs murmured as he enjoyed the last puff of his cigarette, “Nice work on that little piece of misinformation.  You know all they had to do to fortify the energy chamber was—“

     “Yeah.  I know.”  Bulma said as she lifted the gun from the case.

     “So did you do it to protect Son, or  ?”

     “I did it to protect humans.”  She said as she slipped a capsulized tool case from her pocket. “Goku and Vegeta are two Saiyans, and they’re the only Saiyans left in the entire universe.  So what if they killed them, what then?  Then who would they use these on? You think they’d be content to leave them on a shelf for someday or just in case?”

     “You have a point. So what are you going to do with it now?”

     Bulma pried apart the protective panel covering the gun’s side.  “Make it work.”  She said as her eyes danced over the intricate pieces and parts inside the gun, the diodes, the fuses.  It was like reading a book in a dead language, words understood but never spoken, some parts necessary, some redundant, obvious marks of designer frustration, signs of passive aggressive protest.  She hardly took notice of her father leaving the room as she tested her instruments against the power chamber and noticed how it immediately pushed the manual indicator to the max.  She barely nodded a thanks to the Capsule Corp assistant who cheerfully came by to see if she had enough coffee or needed any additional tools, and did not even raise her head when the lab workers came and went.   “No wonder this thing sucks.”  She muttered to herself as her minor modifications began to show signs of stabilizing the charge, “There’s no way they could fire this without it causing a power arc.  What kind of dumbass makes an energy based weapon out of . . . “  She said, turning suddenly to load the muzzle of the gun into a ballistics chamber to test it, but as she hooked her finger around the trigger, she felt a sudden rush and the weight of someone else’s body pressing upon her back.  “Meetings over.”  Vegeta snarled, his teeth nipping at the back of her neck as he cupped both hands neatly over her breasts, “We’ve waited long enough.”

     Bulma’s startle was very audible as she sharply drew in air.  Her face turned a slight shade of green as the lone lab assistant froze, eyes darting from her face to the hands over her boobs to the aggressive black eyes staring out at an angle as the Saiyan prince tilted his head to nibble a line down the nape of her neck.  The lab assistant apologized profusely before gathering his things to run out the door.  “Vegeta what the hell do you think you’re doing?!”  She said as she elbowed him hard in the stomach, “For Kami’s sake I’m handling something deadly here!!”

     “You said after the meetings and before they serve the mid-day meal.” 

     “Hmph well I happen to be quite busy and I’m not dropping everything I’m working on just to give you some!  Ugh I’d think you’d been on earth long enough to know that you can’t just . . . GRAB someone from behind and drag them away like they’re some sort of prey!!  Who let you in here anyway? This is a secured area and I’m working with something very sensitive and if that thing would have gone off we could have both been seriously injured, don’t you understand that?!”

     Vegeta scoffed.  “There is nothing on this planet that could cause me injury.”

     “Ok first of all, don’t be so sure.”  She said, crossing her arms protectively over her breasts as she turned to face him.  “and second of all, notice how I said ‘both’.  I’m kind of a little less resilient to deadly things than you are so you might want to, gee I don’t know, be considerate of my safety in a lab where we handle things that could very well eradicate my existence.”

     “I . . . how would I know the nature of your work?!”

     “Ok well from now on, if I’m in here, you can assume the nature of my work is one where it is completely inappropriate to sneak up behind me and press your cock into my ass—don’t think I didn’t feel that.”  She said as Vegeta turned his head and adjusted himself.  “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to need you to leave me to my work.”

     “But I—“

     “I SAID NOW VEGETA!!!”

     Vegeta balled his fists and gritted his teeth, but this was hardly as intimidating as the sight of Bulma planting both her hands into her hips.  He grumbled and growled to himself all the way out the laboratory door, adjusting himself one more time as the electronic lock safely shut behind him.  “Female species!” he sputtered hatefully even as he involuntarily recalled the feeling of two firm, round arches snugly pressing against his . . .


	5. Its A Date!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I decided to make today a two-fer :)  
> \--------------------------------------------  
> Bulma asks for Son Goku's help in proving her theory, but Goku has other responsibilities to take care of. Will Yamcha prove too much of a distraction ? How will Vegeta react to the idea of a Date Night?

 

***

“Ok Son Goku, I’m going to need you to do it one more time.”  She said, “Transmit to me, then go as far away as you can.  To another continent . . .  Ooo wait, to another planet, if you can.”

     “No problem!”

     “Fifteen seconds . . . and go!”  Bulma said, and the space that Goku occupied was suddenly empty.  She took an instrument from her pocket and took a shot of the surrounding environment—time down to the millisecond, weather conditions, soil conditions, humidity, wind direction.  She measured a rough rectangle over where Goku would reappear and quickly set a laser scatter over its surface to measure all the exact same conditions, and when he reappeared, she was delighted to see a slight bend occur in all of them.  “Again.”  She said with a wide smile, not bothering to look up from the instrument as her eyes danced over the numbers.

     “Well ok, but Chi Chi’s gonna kill me if I don’t pick up Gohan soon.”

    “I just need one more reading.  Do it again and you’re free to go.”

    Goku raised an eyebrow.  He touched his fingers to his forehead and flashed out of existence, going all the way to earth’s moon before returning to the wooded grove just outside of Capsule Corp 15 seconds later, where Bulma was smiling and nodding and trying to tap the buttons on her instrument as Yamcha shoved a small basket towards her. “No, look inside!  It’s really awesome and I can think of no one else I’d rather give it to!”

     “Umm, Yamcha I’m sure it’s great but—son I didn’t get that, can you please try again?”

     Goku shrugged.  He briefly considered ChiChi’s fury before touching his temples, and instead of landing on the moon, he accidently landed in the kitchen of his own home!  “GOKU YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO PICK UP OUR SON!!!!”  ChiChi roared, grabbing her husband by the gi, and as he touched his temples again they were both transported back to the grove, where Yamcha was now down on one knee handing Bulma a heart-shaped box of chocolates with several big orange stickers on the side. 

    “But c’mon you have to!  I need a date!”  Said Yamcha in a nervous, giggly voice.  “I spent all day calling that radio station hoping to win and I did it!! Two front row seats to Mr. Satan’s wrestling extravaganza, with amateur fighting contests and more!  I mean, we don’t have to call it a _date_ date, we could just go as friends!”

     “Oooo I knew it!!  Goku how could you stand up your son for such a complete HUSSY?!”  Chi Chi screamed as she pointed towards Bulma. 

     “We were just running some tests!  I still have time to pick him up!”

     “You take us to him RIGHT NOW!!!”

     Goku flashed a cheesy, uneasy smile.  He nodded his goodbye to Bulma, who was herself struggling with Yamcha’s persistent, unwanted advances.  The basket he had handed her was full of soft, crappy oranges that were slightly wrinkled and old looking, and the chocolates were something that Bulma had seen in the clearance cart at the nearby drug store.  He hadn’t even bothered to take off the big orange 50% off stickers, or even bothered to pick a box that didn’t have worn and torn cellophane.  “I remembered you really liked fruits so I thought if you didn’t like the chocolates you’d at least like those.  And you wouldn’t BELIEVE what hell I caught from Master Roshi from using the Kame House phone all day—he kept thinking he was going to miss a call from some hottie, poor old geezer!” He said as he gave Bulma a wink and a nudge.  “So whaddaya say?  Wanna get dressed up for a night on the town?”

     “I ummm . . . I uhhh . . . I don’t know Yamcha I have kind of an important—“  She said as Yamcha’s face slowly fell, his eyes seemingly melting down to puppy dog level pathetic, “—well, I have been kind of cooped up in here for a while . . . ”

     “So that’s a yes?!  ALRIGHT!!!”  Yamcha said as he pumped his fist into the air.  “So what time should I pick you up?  Oh should we do dinner first?  I think I might have a gift certificate for the burger cart if you want to go dutch!”

     “Umm, you know I hadn’t thought about—“

     And suddenly Bulma was gone!

     Yamcha scratched his head.  He scanned all of his surroundings and the sky above, but nothing was left of her but the basket, the oranges, the chocolates and the tickets.  Yamcha shrugged his shoulders.  He picked up an orange and pressed his thumb into its mushy, overripe flesh.

     Bulma felt a set of arms beneath her knees and neck as she zipped through the forest at high speed.  She screamed and threw her arms around Vegeta’s neck as he turned corkscrew through the low-lying branches and thick leaves.  “Vegeta what the hell do you think you’re doing?!”  She screeched over the whistling air around them, “Put me down you asshole!!!”

     Vegeta took a sharp dive towards the forest floor.  He landed in group of fallen timbers that had formed a closed-in square.  “In the morning, you said later.  In the afternoon, you said later.  And here I rescue you from the endless yammering of Yamcha , and let me guess, it’s still not quite later by Earth’s time?”

     “WHAT?!  Oh my . . . ugh you cannot even be serious right now.”

     “Is later tonight when you decide to bust down my door and mount me like your conquest?!”

     Bulma dashed her hand over her mouth to keep from laughing.  The top half of her face said fury but beneath her hand she was fighting a giddy laugh at the sheer ridiculousness of the situation.  “You need to take me back to Capsule.”  She said, choking slightly as she stifled her laughter. 

     “Why the hell was Yamcha here again anyways?!”

     “He wants . . . “ she said as she dropped her hand from her mouth and let her smile be seen, “He’s got tickets for an event tonight and he wants me to go with him, ok?”

     “Go with hi—and you . . . you are not his escort, why should you accompany him?!”

     “Vegeta.”  Bulma said with a touch of disappointment in her voice, “Look, what did we both say about the relationship between you and I?”

     Vegeta slumped over gave a groan.  “That it’s just sex.”

     “Umm hmmm just sex.  Do you expect or want anything more than that?”

    “Tch don’t flatter yourself!”  He said as his posture came upright again. 

     “Would you ever want to go out on the town or go to a club or go out to dinner or a movie or anything?”

     “Ridiculolus.”  Vegeta scoffed his one word reply

     “Well those are things that I still want to do.  I still want to be taken out in public.  I still want friendship and fun.  I want somebody loose enough to have fun with and that is just not something that you seem all that . . .”  She said, sighing as he turned his back and tightened his arms around himself.  “Take me back to Capsule and let me show you what it’s like for a girl to dress up for a date.”

***

 

“I don’t see the point of all this.”  Vegeta said he sat with his back to Bulma’s headboard. 

     “The point is to look nice, dress your best, and strut your stuff!”  Bulma said as she sifted through her closet.  “Humans like to compare themselves to other humans, and the first way that they do this is through their clothes.  The hipper the clothes, the more eyes you raise.  The more trendy you are, the more people think you’re really with it!”  She said as she laid a dress against her chest while it was still on the hanger.  “What do you think of this one?  Too much?”

     Vegeta’s eyebrow made the answer. 

     “Ok, too much.  Right.  How about this one?  No I got it, this one!!”  She said as she pulled a shimmering, dark navy dress from her closet. 

     “How much longer must I endure this?”  Vegeta said.

     Bulma turned to her dresser drawer and retrieved several delicate items and laid them on top of the dress.  She placed the items on her bed, touched her index fingers to his lips and said, “Stay.”  She gave him a wink as she entered her private bathroom.  She chose a sweet scented gel soap and quickly showered off with it and rubbed her body down with the matching lotion and spray when she was finished.  She wrapped herself up with a towel and blushed a little as her eyes met Vegeta’s upon re-entering the bedroom.  “Close your eyes.”  She said, and Vegeta obeyed, although not without his typical sounds of grousing and disapproval.  A few moments passed with Vegeta alone with the dark behind his eyes and the all-encompassing scent of her perfume, and when she finally said “Ok you can open your eyes again”, she was standing before him in what he perceived as a strange contraption of underthings—a thin plate of armor over her breasts, a strange, delicate belt around her waist with long straps that stretched all the way down to her translucent stockings.  The belt and straps framed her ass in a way that made it look as though it were caging her roundness, the panties underneath not more than a small triangle that covered the same small spot where her tail would have been if she were Saiyan. “So . . . what do you think?”  She purred.

     “What would I care how you chose to clothe yourself.” He said as his eyes traced over the long straps that traced the temptingly grabbable shape of her hips.  “It would be preferable to me if you wore no clothes at all.”

     “With Yamcha?  That’s suprising.”

     “No! not with . . . tch.”  He said, his eyes inexplicably drawn to the straps going down her hips.  “I just . . . well what does it matter what you wear beneath your dress?  You said yourself that the point of dressing up was to impress other humans, so am I to believe that at some point you will shed the dress and prance around in . . . in this?”

     “You wish.”  She said as she stepped into the dress. 

     “So you’re going to wear that . . . all night . . . beneath your clothes.  Do you really think he’ll have a clue?”

     “No.  But you will.”  Bulma said as she snaked her hand around to pull up the zipper.  “But, because you’re Mr. Anti-social, Anti-date, anti-just about everything fun, who doesn’t see the point in getting dressed up or ever leaving the house, you’ll just have to sit here and use your imagination of what you would be doing if it were you taking me out on a date, sitting next to me . . . knowing what I was wearing underneath.”

     “Yemma’s people.”  Vegeta said between his teeth. 

     “That’s no way to talk to a lady.”  Bulma said as she picked up her clutch.  “See you later tonight.”    

***


	6. Date at the wrestling match1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a fun little filler scene - no smut this time :)
> 
> Bulma is all dressed up and ready to go, but was it wise to go on a date with an ex?
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“Ha Ha this is GREAT!”  Yamcha yelled just before he took another bite of his chili cheese footlong hot dog, “Front row seats, everybody!  No nosebleeds for us!”  He said, turning his head to give the people sitting behind them the side-eye, his mouth stained faintly orange from the cheap beef in the stadium chili sauce. 

     “Yeah, really great.”  Bulma said as she tugged the hem of her dress to cover the garters of her stockings.  “hey umm, could I . . . . could I get some of that popcorn?” she said, pointing to the tub of popcorn in Yamcha’s other arm. 

     “Yes of course!  You are my date after all.”  He said with a little tilt of his head, “Nothing but the best for my date.”

     “Ha ha thanks.”  She said, “and umm, the drink?”

     “Ahh yeah here ya go babe but umm, I might have gone a little too hard on the drink cuz there’s not much left.”

     “Yamcha the fight hasn’t even started.”

     “Oh uhh, well, umm, I think I have enough change in my pocket for one more.”  He said as he pulled out a handful of change.  “Aww shoot not enough.  Do you have a quarter zeni?  That would be enough for a small.”

     “Umm, you know what, I think I’ll be fine.”  She said as the lights began to dim, “Ahh it’s starting!!!!”

     Bulma leaned into Yamcha as the lights in the stadium suddenly dimmed.   She grabbed his hand as a loud POP POP preceded a shower of fireworks sparking from each post of the wrestling ring.  Beams of light from the searchlights overhead zipped through the crowd, synthwave music filled the air;  an announcer’s voice welcomed the crowd with a cheery “WELCOME to the premier event South City has been waiting for!!!!  MR. SATAN’S WRESTLING EXTRAVAGANZA!!!!”

     Bulma jumped to her feet and brought her hands together to clap.  She jumped up and down and waved her hands in the air before catching sight of a sticky trail of orange and red on her right palm—chili cheese sauce from Yamcha’s foot long, which had trailed down all the way to the center of her blue, sparkly dress.  “UGH! I NEED A NAPKIN!!”  she shouted down to Yamcha.

     Yamcha shrugged.  The Napkins from the hotdog box lay wadded up on the floor around him with only the soggy napkin around the cup still white.  “Sorry I can get you another one.”  He said with his mouth full of the last bit of hot dog.

     “ugh never mind!!”  Bulma said, turning her attention back to the ring where a large, masked man was calling out his opponent in an exaggerated, theatrical way.  His opponent bounded down the ramp and in an instant, the two men were locked together in an obviously choreographed dance of throws and falls, of jumps off of the ropes and chases around the ring in high physical drama.  They grappled with their arms and then with their legs.  The masked man’s opponent got the upper hand and Bulma gave a loud gasp.  “Oh my gosh he’s going to totally choke him out!”

     “Psh, relax.  EVERYONE knows that wrestling is fake!”  Yamcha said in an obnoxiously loud voice, earning frowns from all the nearby kids.  “He’s going to win because they can’t exchange the belt tonight.”

    The man in the mask suddenly turned around.  He grabbed his opponent by the shoulder and flipped him over, taking a seat on his lower back and hooking his hands just beneath his opponent’s nose.  With a 1-2-3 the opponent signaled his submission, and the match ended, just as Yamcha predicted, with the masked man as the winner.

     “See?  I told ya!  It’s all rigged!”  He said as Bulma sat back down in her seat.  “There’s no athleticism to these guys, I mean look at em!  That guy’s as fat as a—“

     “Shhh shh.”  Bulma said as she tugged her dress down over her garters again.  “C’mon let’s . . . let’s just enjoy it for what it is.”

     “FOR OUR NEXT MATCH . . . GET READY FOR . . . THE MYSTERIOUS WONDER, THE WIZARD OF 1-2-3, THE DARK FORCE OF NATURE HIMSELF, BE’ELZEBUB!!!”

    “Ugh not this old hack!”  Yamcha said with a roll of his eyes.

     “AND HIS CHALLENGER, HAILING FROM FORMER WEST CITY, WEIGHING IN AT 175 POUNDS, THE KID!!!”

     “Psh, who?”  said Yamcha, “just another smear match with some no-name nobody!”

     “Hey buddy, you wanna come down here and make a go of it?”  Be’elzebub called up from the ring to Yamcha. 

     “Oh sure, the heel calling out a member of the audience, oldest trick in the book.”  Yamcha replied with a dismissive swipe of his hand.  “Just pay attention to your match, old man ha ha.” 

     Bulma placed her hand over her face and watched the match through her fingers as it began.  Be’elzebub was old but nimble, and each time he would slam the younger wrestler to the floor of the ring, he’d look up to Yamcha as though it were meant for him.  He even raised his index finger and pointed during the pinning count, alerting the floating stadium cameras to Yamcha’s position in the audience.  “Loooooooookkkkksssss like we have a challenger for tonight’s amateur match, Ladies and Gentlemen!!  And it looks like he’s being escorted by South City’s very own Miss Bulma Briefs!!!” 

     “Oh my Kami no.”  Bulma mumbled to herself as an image of she and Yamcha came up on the giant stadium screen.  She gave a nervous smile and waved to the camera as the cheers grew.  She wondered if the shade of green she was seeing in the widescreen monitor was a defect in the camera, a reflection of her dress, or the fact that she was quite obviously dying inside. 

     “Bulma Briefs everybody!  Miss Bulma Briefs!”  The announcer repeated just before the spotlight zeroed in on the entrance ramp.  “Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaannnnnnnnnnnnnnnnndddddddddd Now, introducing the champion, reigning from the deepest bowels of hell, the terror of toughness, the maven of wanton destruction, the mighty tree of woe, MIIIIIISSSSSSSTTTTTTEEEEERRRRRRRRR SSSSSSSSSSAAAAAAAAAAAAATTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTAAAAAAAAAAANNNNNNNNNNNNN”

     Mr. Satan emerged on the stage from behind the heavy velvet curtains between two cannons that belched bright orange fire.  He thrust both hands in the air and gave a hearty laugh that seemed to fill the stadium and ride along the cheers of the gleeful crowd.  The belt around his waist gleamed as golden and bright as his infectious smile.  He patted each child standing along the entrance ramp on the head with his huge, meaty hands, teasing up their sugared-out delight as they waved their Mr. Satan lollipops and red cotton candy around like pompoms for their favorite hero.  Mr. Satan leaped from the floor all the way up to the ring, giving a mighty roar, stepping over the ropes with the confidence of a man who owned his territory.  He walked to all sides of the squared circle and pumped his fists to the rhythm of his booming theme music.  He thrust his arms out over the center and with a sweeping motion, brought the crowd to its feet to do the wave with Bulma gleefully joining in as the wave came to her seat. “Is there one among you,” he said as he swallowed the mic up in his fist, “Who is strong enough, brave enough, to step into the ring with MIIIIIIIIIIISSSSSSSSSSSSSTTTTTTTTTEEEEEEEERRRRRRR SSSSSSSAAAAAAAAAAAAATTTTTTTTTTTTTTTAAAAAAAAAANNNNNNNN?  Who here has a death wish?  Come on, don’t be shy, if you pin me, the prize money’s worth 10,000 zeni!  Who here has the guts to be a champion?!  YOU!  I heard your loudmouth talkin’ smack earlier to the other wrestlers, why don’t you come down and join us in the ring if you’re so bad!”  He said, pointing up to Yamcha, who was fingering the last gritty kernels of popcorn at the bottom of the tub.

     “Looks like now’s your chance, Yamcha.” Bulma said, ribbing him with her elbow.  “Why don’t you go down there and show him how it’s done.”

     “Aww you know, I didn’t bring my Gi.”  Yamcha said as he wiped his hands on his pants.  “Besides, I’m one of Earth’s guardians, I-I shouldn’t use my position for my own personal gain like that.”

     “Come on boy, what are ya, some sort of blowhard?!”  Mr. Satan said with a stadium-shaking laugh into the mic.  “Put your money where your mouth is and show the lady that you’re not a big chicken!  Unless that’s what you really are, chicken! Bwak bwak bwak ha ha ha!”

     Yamcha rolled his eyes as the camera bot slowly approached with a mic in its robotic claw.  “Look Pal, I don’t want to hurt you.”

     “Oh you won’t.  You look like you couldn’t even hurt my grandma!”

     “I am the lone desert wolf and if you challenge me, you’re going to be sorry!!”  Yamcha replied, assuming his wolf fang stance, drawing the snickers of the kids in the row behind them. 

     “Bwak bwak bwak chicken!!!  I sure do hear a lot of crowin’ but I don’t see a lot of goin’ !” Mr. Satan said as he tucked his hands beneath his arms and made mock chicken wings.  “Come down here and claim your prize money!  All you gotta do is hold me down for 3 seconds, that’s not that hard is it?  But by the looks of the stain on your shirt, the last thing you held down was a coney island hot dog HA HA HA!!!”

     Yamcha balled his fists and gritted his teeth.  “Fine!  I’ll play your stupid game but you’re going to be sorry!!” he said as he stomped down the steps.  The crowd gave a wild uproar as Yamcha took to the ring.   The ring attendants hurried to Mr. Satan and removed his belt and cape.  The bell rang, and Mr. Satan lunged at Yamcha with a blood curdling war cry that gurgled deep within his throat.  He caught Yamcha by the midsection and brought him crashing against the ring post.  He wrapped his arms around him with a bear hug and flipped backwards, throwing Yamcha to the other side of the ring as though he were weightless. 

     Yamcha shook his head.  He pushed up from the mat and resumed his wolf fang stance but as his blurry eyes cleared, he realized he was facing the ring post and not an actual human being.  He spun around clumsily on his heels and found that Mr. Satan was standing over him, his bulk casting a black shadow as the spotlight streamed down from behind.  “Time to say goodnight!” Mr. Satan said as he took Yamcha by the shoulder and the ankles and hoisted him up to his shoulders, falling backwards to slam Yamcha to the mat. 

     Bulma jumped from her seat and trotted down the steps as fast as she could in heels, arriving ringside just as Mr. Satan was hoisting Yamcha over the ropes to throw him to the floor.  She raced to Yamcha’s side as he hit bottom, kneeling down, shaking him by the shoulders but he was already out cold with a busted lip leaking blood into his drool. 

     Mr. Satan stood at the top of the ring and pumped his fists in the air.  “Well that takes care of that!  Maybe now we can move on to a real challenger!  Step right up people don’t be shy!  Who’s next to take a beatin’ ?”

     At the far end of the stadium, the emergency exit doors opened with a loud CLANK.  A hush fell over the crowd as a small, spikey haired man appeared, wearing a blue jumpsuit and a short leather capsule corp jacket, one of her jackets, one of her very jackets that she kept in the lab as a spare for cold mornings.  He scanned the audience with hard, discerning eyes, stopping momentarily at every whisp of blue-green hair he could find.  “You there makin’ all that racket, did you lose your ticket or somethin’?  Them’s the emergency exit doors.  You don’t belong down here!”  Mr. Satan boomed out through the microphone.

     “Oh but I do belong down here.”  Vegeta said as he laid eyes on Bulma and crumpled body of Yamcha on the floor.  “I’m here to take his place.”

     “What?!  You?? HA HA HA!!”  Mr. Satan said as he leaned back into his laugh with both hands on his stomach.  “No offense but it wouldn’t be right for me to fight a man of your stature.  I mean look at cha!  You barely come up to my bellybutton!”

     Bulma quickly jabbed her fingernails to her teeth.  Her wide eyes flitted from Mr. Satan to Vegeta, whom she expected to be in full meltdown mode after such an insult, but Vegeta simply crossed his arms and gave a smile, the smile that Bulma knew frequently proceeded the storm.  “Perhaps so, in which case, you should have no fear of losing.”  He said as he stepped up to the ring.

     “Ha Ha well I don’t often snack after meals so you better offer me something special, snack size!”  Mr. Satan replied. 

     Vegeta stepped between the ropes.  He rotated his shoulders and slid his arms out of the jacket, looking over his shoulder, eyes meeting Bulma’s as she stared up to him with her deep blue eyes sparkling in the stadium lights.  Her lips parted as he handed her the jacket.  His eyes fell to the hem of her dress as she reached up to take it, as it betrayed the straps to the garters she had teased him with earlier in the night, the ones Yamcha never noticed, the ones he had felt the strong urge to grab when they were alone in her bedroom together.  “Vegeta,” he heard her whisper in that luscious, orgasmic way she had of saying his name, “Don’t hurt him.”

     Vegeta cocked his eyebrow and gave a small chuckle before feeling a two-handed blow rain down between his shoulder blades, knocking him chest first into the ropes.  He quickly turned around and with that killing look in his eyes he blazed forward shoulder first into the gut of Mr. Satan until the wrestler’s spine hit the padded post.  Vegeta hooked his right arm around his opponent’s midsection and performed a backbreaker, gaining gasps of awe as the wrestler’s body bounced off his knee slightly before hitting the mat.  Mr. Satan curled into a ball.  He curled up on his hands and knees and looked up to the slight, spikey haired man, fearing his black, frigid eyes, his stern, downturned mouth, the hard line of his muscles as they popped slightly out from his cross-armed stance.   “Alright, I admit, you caught me off guard, little buddy.”  Mr. Satan said as he came back up to his feet.  “I can understand how 10,000 Zeni could really motivate a guy to impress a girl as pretty as that little green flower down there, but you’re in the ring with Miiiiiiiiiiiisstteeeeeeerr Saaaaatttttaaaaaaaaaaaaann and you won’t get another lucky strike like that, I guarantee it.”

     “Tch, I don’t care about your money.”  Vegeta mumbled, glancing back to Bulma, who was kneeling on the floor once again over Yamcha, trying to wake him up. 

     Mr. Satan grabbed Vegeta by the shoulder and pulled.  He stumbled around a few steps as he realized the smaller man’s uncanny strength in holding his position.  He bent over and placed his other hand on Vegeta’s thigh and leaned his bulk into the smaller man’s body but still it did not budge, it only served to annoy the spikey haired challenger, who looked down on him in disgust.  Vegeta quickly came up off the mat and gave a scissor kick, flinging Mr. Satan’s hands off his body.  He then hooked his hands around his head and pushed it down, flipping the larger man down on his back.  “I’d advise you not to touch me.”  Vegeta said, rolling Mr. Satan away with his foot.

     “OK THAT DOES IT!  NO MORE MR. NICE SATAN!!! NOW IMMA GONNA GIVE YOU TO THE COUNT OF 3 TO GET OUT OF THIS RING BEFORE I PULVERIZE YOU INTO ITTY BITTY BITS JUST TO TEACH YOU A LESSON.  GET READY FOR IT ‘CAUSE HERE IT COMES!!  ONE . . . “

     Vegeta turned his head in contempt and noticed that Bulma had stopped her fussing over Yamcha, that he was laying there with his eyes half opened, the jacket propped under his head.

    “TWO!!!”

     But this was a minor distraction compared to the message her body language seemed to convey.  She passed her fingers along the edge of her dress and pressed the hem up, sliding a fingernail just beneath the garter on her right leg to lift it and let it snap back again.  She kept eye contact with Vegeta as she bent over Yamcha, fully aware that her too short dress in her knees-together position left her backside uncovered and showing, that there was nothing to keep her private parts from Vegeta’s view but a thin strip of sea-green lace running between her buttocks and beyond.

     “THREE!!! PREPARE TO—“ Vegeta quickly drew up his fist and backhanded Mr. Satan, and when the man still didn’t immediately fall to his knees in a knockout, Vegeta grabbed him by the throat, threw him in the air, and slammed him through the wrestling ring all the way to the floor.

     “UNBELIEVABLE FOLKS THAT IS ONE STRONG CHALLENGER!!!” the announcer called out as Vegeta casually strolled to the hole left in the mat and stood on Mr. Satan’s body for the perfunctory 1-2-3 count.  “IT WOULD SEEM THAT MR. SATAN’S TRAVELING WRESTLING SHOW HAS A NEW HEAVY-ER-LIGHT-ER-SHORTWEIGHT CHAMPION!!!”

     Bulma walked up to the edge of the mat.  She pat her hand on its velvety blue surface and whispered as the officials started down the ramp, “Hey!!  Help me get him to the car!!!”

    

 

***

     Vegeta picked Yamcha up—one hand on the collar of his shirt, the other on the seat of his pants—and gave him the heave-ho into the backseat of Bulma’s car.  “Perhaps he should seek the attention of someone skilled in the art of healing.”  He said, immediately recalling that she was the one who nursed him back to health after the first gravity room exploded.  “That Dende boy, perhaps?”

     “He’ll be fine.  Thanks Vegeta.”  Bulma said as she fished around in her purse for her car keys.

     “What exactly are you going to do with him?”

     “Take him back to Capsule, let him sleep it off.”

     Vegeta grunted.  “Was he conscious when the match ended?”

     “No, thank goodness.  I mean, he’s not as prideful as you, but--”

     “He is still a fighter.  Maybe not a warrior, but a fighter.”  Vegeta interjected, “I would have taken no pleasure in stealing what was meant to be his victory.”

  Bulma shot Vegeta a quizzical look before she finally pulled her keys from a small pocket on the front of her purse. “Listen you better get in there and claim your prize before they start passing your victory off as part of the storyline.  You might say that you don’t want it or need it, but 10,000 Zeni is a lot of money. You earned it, so go claim it.”  She said as she sat down behind the driver’s seat.  “Oh and hey, you did a really awesome job back there.  I know you could have done a lot worse to Mr. Satan, if you really wanted to.”  She said as she started the car.  She rolled down the window and flashed two fingers up in a peace sign, a coy smile warming up on her face as her eyes swept over Vegeta from head to toe.   “See you back at Capsule?” 

    Vegeta answered with a hand sign of his own.  He folded his pinky and ring finger beneath his thumb, holding his index and middle finger aloft and pressed together.  “See you _later_.”  He murmured to himself as the car took off in the direction of Capsule Corp.


	7. Sisterly Advice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bulma has a rendevous with her sister at the local coffee shop, and boy does she have a story to tell! What's a little smutty talk between girls?
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     Bulma took a moment to really absorb the sight of the blonde at the coffee shop table before approaching. “I know you probably thought you’d never hear me say this but . . . I am so glad you’re here.”  she said as she set her purse down on the small wire table. 

     Tights Briefs brought her lovely dark eyes up from her e-reader and blinked a few times at her little sister.  “Just promise me you’re not going to tell mom that I’m in town.”  She said, the two women sharing a giggle as the waiter brought the first round of coffee.   “So what’s so important that you wanted to meet me bright and early for breakfast?  Must be something pretty big.”

     “Oh Tights I’ve got myself in a situation and I think I’m in just way too much over my head.”  She replied, touching her fingertips to her temples.  “You’re going to think I’m the biggest slut in the world.”

     “Oh wow, something that would make me think you’re the biggest slut in the world?”  She said with a bright smile as she sank down in her seat with her coffee mug held with both hands.  “Imagine Bulma Briefs out-slutting herself!”

     “Tights . . . “ Bulma said with a little warning tone in her voice, “Come on.”

     “I’m just razzing you.” 

     “Ok but I’m just asking that you LISTEN and not just judge because I’m really having a hard time over this.”

     “Believe me I’ll be listening, I need story fodder.  Please do go on.”

     “You don’t want to turn this into a story Tights, trust me.  It’s not for your kind of audience.”  Bulma said, looking around their environment to make sure that they were alone.  “Ok so remember that we ummm . . . took on a number of houseguests a while back that were . . . maybe displaced aliens from another planet?”

     “I vaguely recall you telling me something of that nature.”

     “And remember when it was all over the news that two humanoid ‘spacemen’ had landed in West City and, well, destroyed it?”

     “Yes.”

     “Well, we kind of took one of those guys in along with the good aliens, and—“

     “aaaaannnnnd you ended up fucking him, am I right?”

     “Oh god Tights you make it sound so crazy.”

     “Hey you’re the one that volunteered the whole space alien detail, not me.” She said as the waiter brought two chocolate eclairs on a white china plate.   “You could have just said hey I’m fucking this guy and I would have never have known one way or the other.” She said as she took a bite out of the cream filled donut.

     “Well, I don’t know that I could have entirely left that detail out.”  Bulma said as she hooked her hair behind her ear.  “He’s different . . . so different than any other guy I’ve been with Tights, and I’m not really sure if it’s really him that I’m so hung up on right now or if it’s the very fact that he is culturally and physically different.”

     “Different?  How different?  Does he have weird shaped junk?”  Tights said, pitching forward suddenly with her elbows planted on the table, “Does he shape shift?  Does he do weird, depraved sexual acts??”

     “He’s . . . well, let me tell you what happened the other night.  And you have to promise you’ll let me talk because if you make me feel self conscious about this—“

     “Oh no honey I want that freak flag to fly.”  She said, her eyes taking on a cheerful shape as she took another bite of her donut.  “Leave no detail out.”

     “What if it’s TMI?”

     “There is no TMI we’re sisters now tell me all about it.”

     Bulma placed her fingers around the butt end of the éclair. She tilted it and tapped it against the saucer.  “When I first met this guy, I was scared shitless of him.  If you would have seen the way he and Son went at it, you’d understand that this guy was a special kind of dangerous, you know, just . . . cold and ruthless and single-minded.  I used to have nightmares that I’d be trapped alone with him, without any of the other guys to stop him from taking the Dragon Balls or anything else he wanted for that matter.  And it just seemed like, the more he & Son would battle, the more frenzied and reckless and powerful he would become—he was always full of surprises, and not pleasant ones, more like Surprise you thought you killed me but here I am 20 times stronger now!”

     “He was Son’s enemy?”

     “Well yes but . . . as we all came to figure out, this guy was kind of like the other side of the coin to Goku.  They’re the only two people left out of their entire race, and this guy had been more or less enslaved by the THING that destroyed their planet and their people . . . so they went up against it, together, defeated it, and formed what I guess you could call a truce.  It’s not exactly what I’d call an easy truce, but . . . well anyway, he ended up living with us, and truth be told, he’s been a real prick.”

     “Ooo-k”

     “He’s rude.  He’s condescending.  He eats a TON of food, like, to the point where we’re having to send Capsule Corp employees out for emergency groceries just to keep food on the table, ok?  Like when have you ever known that to happen in our house?”

     “With the way mom stockpiles things like the world is going to end tomorrow?  Never!”

     “Right, like you’d think he’d be grateful to have a roof over his head or, hell, even ground beneath his feet, considering what happened to the planet he came from.”  Bulma said as she took a small bite off of her donut.  “and you know, in the beginning, we didn’t just leave it all up to him to figure stuff out.  Mom and dad both tried to engage him in conversation, get involved with stuff around the house, tried to . . . you know, get him acquainted with life on earth but he wanted no part of it.  The only time he ever proactively attempted to engage with anyone was when he asked dad to build a gravity machine similar to Son’s so that he could train enough under extreme conditions to be better than Son.”

     “Thought you said they were under a truce.”

     “Ugh it’s complicated.”  Bulma said as they each took a drink of their coffee after the waiter refreshed their cups.  “”Well, I tried too . . . I tried to engage him but he just kept brushing me off . . . and you know how I am, the more someone doubts me or shrugs me off or ignores me, the more likely I am to get in their face.  But he was good, you know, he was really good at putting up his defenses, to a point where it just felt like I was trying to get the attention of a brick wall.  But one morning after Yamcha and Krillin had come over, I guess Yamcha said something kind of clueless and it bothered him because he came up to me and he goes _I don’t like the way he speaks to you_ and then just walks off, back to the gravity room, and every day after that back to the gravity room, back to the gravity room, the only time he would really crawl out and be around the rest of us was for coffee, which he really, really seems to be fond of.” Bulma said as she smoothed her hair behind her ear again.  “So . . . Yamcha had tickets for the Mr. Satan show and we went together, and he proceeded to make a total ass of himself.  I mean, like, a total ass—making fun of all the wrestlers, saying all this stuff about how fake it all was and how they weren’t really athletes, you know, that sort of thing, and he got so obnoxious about it that Mr. Satan himself called him out on his shit and made him come down to the ring.”

     “Sounds like what I remember of that guy.  Go on.”

     “Well, Mr. Satan ended up mopping the floor with Yamcha, and I have never been so embarrassed in all my life.”  She said as she took a sip of her coffee, “I mean, here we are, we’re supposed to be on this date together as friends, and you know, I’m a well-known face in South City so you know, there are cameras and reporters and all that everywhere.”

     Tights rolled her eyes, “Umm hmm.  Always fun when you’re trying to make a name for yourself as a novelist and your sister’s a scientific superstar.  But please continue.”

     “Well, He’s down there just getting destroyed . . . and Vegeta walks in.”

     “Vegeta?  Is this Mr. Aloof houseguest spaceman?”

     “Yeah.  So Vegeta walks in THANKFULLY after Yamcha had already been knocked out, and offers to take Yamcha’s place in the amateur event, and I’m telling you Tights, he was absolutely breathtaking!”

     “Of course, he’s a space alien.  Kind of had an unfair advantage.”

     “True, but . . . anyway, after the fights, Vegeta helped me get Yamcha in the car, and we said our goodnights to each other, you know, I wasn’t going to just leave Yamcha there and I knew if I could just get him home and get him into a bed he’d be fine by morning.   But when I got home, Dad had guests so the guest beds were already filled and I really didn’t want to put Yamcha on couch and I didn’t have anywhere else to put him, so I like, tried to get him to my room and Vegeta was in the hallway, and he sees me struggling with this guy so he took him over his shoulder and laid him in my bed. And then we both go out to the hallway.”  She said as she took another drink of her coffee.  “And you know, I had been flirting with him all day,  and we had already begun kind of fooling around by this point, and he had been grabbing at me and hinting in all day that he wanted to have sex and I kept telling him later, later, and you know, he was getting kind of frustrated because he still has no concept of what _later_ as a saying actually means to one of us, but he backed off, you know, it’s not like he tried to  . . . But I just kept telling him later, later and when we were out in the hallway, he looks at me and goes _Well, Is it_ _Later?_ and Tights, I don’t know why—maybe it was the way he said it, like maybe it should have been a snarky or mean for him to say, but it came across so genuine it was almost kind of innocent, like here’s the guy who just laid waste to one of the most powerful athletes on earth, and here he is, saying it like I’m the one he doesn’t want to piss off, like I was the thing he really had at stake, not that wrestling match, not the 10,000 Zeni prize money not his rivalry with Goku, but me.  So I kissed him.  And he kissed me back.  And I felt so bad for Yamcha, I mean, here he was on the other side of the door practically dying, and here I was in the hallway making out with a Saiyan.”

     “A Saiyan?  Is that the type of alien he is?”

     Bulma silently nodded, temporarily lost in reliving the memory.  “Vegeta sticks his hands under my dress and takes me by the garter straps with both fists and pulls me to him, and he’s kissing my neck and holding me by those straps like they were some sort of harness, you know, like he was using them to control the direction of my body.”

     “Uh huh, go on.”

     “The guy’s super strong and he pulls me into his lap while he’s still standing up, alright?  And he puts his arm around the small of my back and yanks my dress up over my head and off my body with the other, right there in the hallway, where Dad or anyone could have seen if they were awake.  He carries me back to his room and just . . . . he just fucking attacks me like . . . I dunno like, a kid tearing into a birthday present or a starving person into a big dinner he just . . . he took the crotch of my panties in his hand and just snapped them off like they were made of crepe paper.”

     Tights gave a girlish giggle.  “Well I guess the man was horny!  Then what happened?”

     “Well . . . . and this is where you have to promise not to judge me, ok?”

     Tights rolled her eyes.  “I’m not going to judge geez.”

     “Well, we start fucking, and you know, there’s no lead up to it there’s no hesitation on his part or my part, it’s just bed, back, cock in pussy and he’s immediately deep stroking me, ok?  I mean, like, really hitting it all the way down . . . and he’s big down there, he’s kind of short so you wouldn’t think that he would be, but, you know, he’s just HUGE and he’s mercilessly skewering me with this thing and he’s got me by the bra straps in both hands again and he’s breathing real heavy in my ear and I hear him say _tell me you hate me_.  So I . . . I did.  And I felt it.  I say it to him through my teeth like _I hate you_ just over and over again, just spitting it through my clenched teeth and I . . . I don’t know what came over me but I . . . I hit him!  I slapped him hard in the face!  He just kind of shook it off but then it . . . it seemed to make him really hot, like he was getting off on it!!”

     “Are you kidding me that _is_ hot!!”

     “No!  No it’s not it was alarming!!  Sex is supposed to be soft and sensual, not . . . not THAT!”  Bulma said, making her eyes go wide.  “Anyways, I’m slapping the shit out of this guy and he’s just gritting his teeth and smiling and just saying all this stuff in my ear, like _come on, fight me you bitch, hit me harder, let me feel your power!!_ I closed my hand and made a fist, and I clocked him, I mean I really, really went for a punch that should have sent teeth flying, but right after I made contact, he came!  And I mean, he came like a mother fucker and he’s just apologizing profusely because I hadn’t yet, but I’m still kicking and flailing and just going absolutely berserk . . . and he stops . . . and he grabs my wrists, and he hushes me like _shh shhh shhh shhh_ and he’s still hard and still inside me, until he pulls it out . . . and slides it up the length of my labia until its pressing right up against my clit, and he just kept pressing and jabbing and rubbing it with his cock until I came, and let me tell you, I was so CRAZY I was so in this all-out fight mode that when he made me come, it was downright earth shattering. “ Bulma said, almost out of breath as she relived the memory, “And , the next day, I hobble to the kitchen to make the coffee, right?  I say hobble because I’m the one feeling a little beat up after all that, I mean, he drilled me so deep I was bleeding . . . and I’m so spent and so thoroughly used up that I just—I couldn’t talk to anybody!  I physically could not bring myself to say a word.  Like you know mom, she always makes small talk with whoever’s nearby and I’m just so in this state of shell shock that I just couldn’t fake it, you know?  And then Vegeta walks in . . . and he takes the seat right across from me . . . and I could tell that he’s somewhat in that same mindspace because he’s unusually serene, like he’s all calm and quiet and just sitting there drinking his coffee in stone cold silence, right?  Not making faces, not making snide little remarks, not giving anyone that look of condescension that he always wears, not being an asshole to anyone, just being quiet and decent.  Well Mom leaves, Dad and his clients leave, Yamcha, thank the Kais, limps through the kitchen and waves goodbye, and we’re sitting there all alone and he lifts his eyes to me, but I was already staring I was not even drinking coffee anymore, I was just staring . . . and we’re both looking deep into each other’s eyes, and eventually I get up to put my cup in the sink, and he catches me by the hand.  All he did was pass his cheek over the back of it and I was absolutely on fire!  Tights, I was hurting so bad that morning.   But . . . I took him by the other hand, and I led him back to the pantry.  I locked the door behind us.  _Are you mad, woman?_   He said to me, and before my robe even hit the floor his thumbs were hooked into the elastic of his shorts, pushing them down . . . and he was hard and ready and just as hungry as ever.  He pressed me into that cold, steel, pantry door and I folded my legs over the small of his back and I’m praying—just praying—that the room was insulated enough to be soundproof because as soon as he entered me I was right back where I was the night before, just screaming in agony but begging him absolutely BEGGING him to go hard . . . and he’s cursing at me in some language I can’t understand and he’s growling and he’s got me surrounded by these strong, solid arms.  And I get close, and I know that he knows that I’m getting close because he, like, holds me tighter and kind of curls his body around me like someone doing the dip at a big band dance, right? And in that tiny space in the pantry we’re both kind of floating—floating on the power of his own ki—and I come, and he comes, and I swear he comes so much it’s like an ocean flooding into me.  The pulse is so strong through his cock that it feels like a kick, like it’s kicking straight up into my pussy and every muscle in his body tenses.  He’s already rock solid all over to begin with but it’s like he comes and I’m wrapped up in stone with the ocean flowing inside me.”  She said, pausing as Tight’s smiling face positively glowed, giddy and girlish.  “But then something kind of weird happened, and it’s happened a few other times we’ve done it, and it makes me feel so confused.”

     “Woah woah—other times?  You’ve done it more than just these two times?”

     Bulma nodded her head.  “Yeah we . . . we had a couple of other dalliances, yes.”

     “Wow I could have used that detail before totally not judging you in my head but . . . what’s this weird thing that has you feeling so conflicted?”  

     “Well, Vegeta and I, we’ve both said from the get go that this was just sex and only sex nothing more.  No strings attached, no . . . expectations or feelings, but when we’re done, he does this thing that . . . doesn’t seem like something someone could do without feeling, you know?”  Bulma said, pausing to search over the table, to all the little green leaves of the climbing ivy behind them and the sunlight streaming in between, “He like, rubs his face around on my body almost like a big cat, eyes closed, like he’s lost in some sort of trance.  And that rubbing sometimes turns to kissing . . . and licking . . . and sucking and stroking and it just feels so reverent, like he’s worshiping me or something.  It’s not aggressive, it’s not like he’s trying to start something again.  It’s never forceful it’s like the exact opposite of forceful.  It’s like, gentle . . . and kind . . . and soft.”

     “Why is that weird?  I mean, he’s an alien, maybe they believe in reverse foreplay or something.”

     “Well for one thing, he takes it really pretty far.  Like, he’s not just rubbing his face over my shoulder or my breasts or my stomach or safe places like that, he seems to particularly like the gross places.”

     Tights blurted out a sudden, loud laugh.

     “Tights come on!  It’s not like I’m a novelist and I know how to explain this stuff like you do!”

     “I’m sorry!  I’m sorry it’s just the way you said it!!  Well like, what does he go for?”

     “Hair . . . armpits . . . feet--he actually seems to really spend a lot of time on the feet, actually . .  Ass, other places down there, ahem.”  She said, blushing, “He even goes so far as to lick it, even after . . . his own . . . _stuff_ . . . gets there.  And you know ordinarily that’s something that would really kind of gross me out but . . . it feels so natural with him that it’s almost kind of sexy that he’s so uninhibited and so unbothered by the grossness of it and just so . . . into it.”

     “So do you enjoy it?”

     “Yeah, I guess . . . but I think in my head it’s like, no guy has ever been that into me to do anything like that, and this is the guy who’s supposed to be NOT that into me.  And you know, that whole _tell me you hate me_ thing that happened I—I think I would have been really weirded out saying that to someone like Yamcha or you know, any of the other guys I’ve been with, but with Vegeta, I said it, and I didn’t regret it, I _felt_ it . . . and that’s what scares me the most, I felt something there Tights, I _meant_ it.  I meant it, when it shouldn’t have meant anything. I wasn’t just saying it, I was feeling it, like damn straight I hate you, I hate you for being this damn good when you were really just supposed to be a waste of time and nothing more.” Bulma said as she folded her arms together over the table.  “And he wasn’t any less tender with me after I said it when he really should have been, in fact that . . . that was really the first time I’d felt perfectly content to let him do it and not feel any bit of self-consciousness or or or guilt.  I just laid there like I was lost in the afterglow.  But . . . why?  Why would I reach out to him and stroke all the places I’d slapped why . . . would I hum little sounds to myself while he’s licking from my ass straight up my leg why would . . . why would I even let it go this far if it’s not going to be anything more than . . . just getting it on?“

     Tights drew up the corner of her mouth as she watched her sister struggle to finish her thought.  “One question.”  She said in a firm but upbeat voice. “Did you say you let him umm, err. . .” she said as as held up the end of her donut and pointed towards the white cream filling.

     “Ugh why the hell did I even tell you that?”

     “beeeeeeecause you’re a scientist and you have no friends outside of work and every time we’re together it’s like I’m your confessional booth and you have no understanding of what actually is TMI because you’re so eager to spill your guts about every gory detail that I knew as soon as you called me that I was going to be in for a real wild ride now please just, deep breath, answer the question—did you let him . . . éclair you?”

     “Yes.”

     “Ok why?”

     “I’m on the pill.”  Bulma said as she crossed her arms and let out a loud, obvious sigh.

     “You don’t know where he’s been.  For all you know, he could have space herpes.”

     Bulma rolled her eyes and gave a groan, “beeeeecause  . . . I found out pretty quick that their STUFF has other STUFF in it that feels really really REALLY good and I couldn’t NOT cum even if he didn’t MAKE me beforehand because that STUFF makes things like really super sensitive and that’s kind of addicting considering all these other fools barely gave me a hand up to the mountain, let alone help me get over it.  And that’s kind of my other quandary too like, maybe I’m only feeling this way because I’m being exposed to this substance that I don’t fully understand and there’s not . . . really any human equivalent to it.”

     “Leave it to my little sister to get involved with an alien freak with super semen.”  Tights said as she emptied her coffee cup.  “So what’s the problem, really?  Why all this angst?  Are you afraid of catching feelings, is that what it is?”

     “I’m afraid that I might.  And I don’t want to.”  Bulma said as her expression turned somber, “I don’t want to be that Bulma Briefs anymore, Tights . . . that falls in love with any guy that gives her the time of day, that spends all this time chasing and chasing and still ending up with nothing.  I really just wanted to be totally in charge for once and use em and lose em like they’ve done me so many times, you know?  Be mature about it.  See dick for what it is, just . . . dick.”

     “Bulma.”  Tights said as she reached out her hands and placed them over her sister’s, “You can’t just compartmentalize your feelings all neat and clean like that.  Feelings aren’t capsules, you can’t just take them apart and shrink them down and expect them to stay in this little box until they’re ready to pop.”  She said as Bulma’s phone rang with a call from work, “Sounds like you’re having fun with the guy so why don’t you just relax and wait and see how everything unfolds?”

     “Because . . . I feel bad about Yamcha.  And because he poses a conflict of interest with my other friends.  To say They don’t get along in an understatement, and ever since our first ‘encounter’ he’s been a lot more vocal about keeping them away.”

     “Hmm, well that’s definitely a concern.  You know you can’t let him do that.”

     “I know.”  Bulma said with a sigh.  “I knew going into this that I was playing with fire, and I’m not even sure I understand why I even started.”

     “It’s a lot harder to stop than it is to start.”  Tights said as she noticed her sister’s eyes focusing on something in the distance over her shoulder.  “What?  What is it?”

     “Oh my Kami it’s Yamcha.”  She said, her voice hushed and low.  “He’s been texting the shit out of me today and I haven’t answered any of them.”

    “Tell him you were busy fucking an alien!!”

    “Ugh no shut up!” 

     “Ok a wrestling champ. THE wrestling champ.”

     “No are you crazy?  Oh hiiiiiiiiiii Yamcha!” Bulma said as the desert bandit walked up to the table, “What are you doing out so early this morning?”

     “Looking for a new outfit for the big Capsule Corp company event!”  Yamcha replied with a bright and cheery smile.  “Gotta dress to impress!  Who’s this?”

     “You’ve met Tights before.”

     “Ohhhhhh Tights, yeah your umm . . . cousin?  High School friend?”

     “Sister.”  Both answered in equally disgusted unity. 

“Oh.  Yeah.  Tights.  Sometimes forget you have a sister. Long time no see!”  Yamcha said with a little wave of his hand before turning his back to Tights to face Bulma directly.  “Anyways I tried messaging you today because I want to know what style you think I should go with at the party—did you get my message?”

     “Uhhhh you know, since I’ve been sitting here with Tights all morning I haven’t really had a chance to read my—“  she said as she noticed her sister’s mocking face, “I mean, I saw that you messaged me but I really—“

     “Oh no that’s ok.  I just needed your opinion on a couple of things, that’s all.  Like, is there a certain color that I should dress in, I mean, you know, like I want to be trendy but I don’t want us to clash.”

     “Oh I . . . hadn’t really—“  She said as Tights wrapped her arms around herself and rolled her tongue around in a mock make-out session.  “Ahem I mean, I-I think I’m going for a lighter color.”

     “A lighter color, you mean like yellow or white?”

     “I was thinking more umm . . . more like . . . “ she said as her sister dotted the cream filling from the donut between her index and forefinger, “I was thinking more like creme NOW STAHP THAT!!!!”  She yelled as Tights lapped the cream filling off of her own skin with one long, luxurious lick. 

     Tights dashed her hand away as Yamcha looked quizzically over his shoulder.  “Well, umm, if you get some free time today it would be really awesome if you could help me pick something out.”

     “Well, umm, I’m really kind of busy today.”

     “Tomorrow?  Sometime this week?”

     “Ugh Yamcha just use your own common sense.  I’m sure you’ll look fine. “

     “But I-I thought you loved shopping!”

     “Yamcha I’ve got things to do!”  Bulma said as her work phone rang again from her purse, “I just came out here because my sister was in town and I hadn’t seen her months and all I wanted to do was grab a quiet cup of coffee and talk things over with SOMEONE WHO CARES.”  She said as tights stuck her tongue in the filled hole of the donut behind Yamcha’s back.  “I-I’m sorry I snapped I’m just, I’m under a lot of pressure, ok?”

     Yamcha passed his hand over the back of his head.  He gave it a rub and looked to both women, “Er,  well, ok umm . . . well could I maybe send you a picture message, you know, of the outfits I’m thinking of buying?”

     “Yeah, yeah. That would be great.”

    “You are going to answer your messages, right?”

     “I WILL WHEN I GET AROUND TO IT YAMCHA UGH!!!!!!!!!!!!” Bulma screamed, scaring the nearby waiter so bad that he dropped a tray of coffee cups all over the brick patio.

     “Alrighty then.”  Yamcha said with a nervous chuckle.  “Don’t mind me ha ha I’ll just umm, I’ll just be off!!  N-n-nice seeing you again Hose!”

     “IT’S TIGHTS!!!!”  the Briefs sisters yelled in unison as Yamcha ran down the street as fast as he could. 

 


	8. Bulma's Multitasking - a showdown in the backyard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bulma juggles the pressure of work with party planning while a needy Yamcha vies for her attention - Will Vegeta make his point in a showdown in the backyard?
> 
> \--------------------------------------------------

     “Oh, there you are!”  said Dr. Briefs as Bulma strolled through the laboratory doors, “Those guys from the North City Militia have been calling and calling today.  Did they leave any messages on your personal phone?”

     “Only about ten.”  Bulma said as she slipped on her lab jacket.

     “Hmm, well, I’m sure they’re just anxious for a status update.  Have you made any progress on the gun they tasked us with?”

     “Umm, somewhat.  Hey dad, what’s this?”  Bulma said as she picked at the small pleats in a little package wrapped in cellophane sitting on her desk. 

     “Oh, Yamcha dropped it off just before noon.”  Dr. Briefs replied as tested a switch at his desk, “Asked me to make sure that you got it.”

     Bulma tugged at the ribbon.  The package opened with a little POP and out came a small shower of fuchsia-colored confetti with a tiger striped velvet rose hot glued into a plain white vase with a little card attached that said, _For a special friend, thanks for the date!_

     “Well I guess I should also tell you, that Vegeta fellow was none too happy to see it.  The two of them had quite the exchange of words while you were gone, one that, if I’d been Yamcha, I would have finished outside without the use of talking if you catch my drift.”

     “Great, what did he—“ Bulma’s cell phone began to ring.   The North City Militia captain was calling again ontop of the 3 voicemails and 5 texts he had already left.  Bulma flitted her eyes and set the phone on her workbench just as her desk phone began to ring.  “Crap, it’s the caterers.”  She said to herself as she picked up the receiver.

     “Miss Bulma we’re all out of blue crab for your upcoming event.  Would you take an olive pate as a substitute or would you prefer another seafood dish?”

     “Umm, have you spoke with my assistant?”  Bulma said as the North City Captain’s face appeared on the screen before her through video chat, “Shit.  Just, umm, you know, let’s go with another Seafood—“

     “Miss Bulma, I’ve been trying to reach you all day in regards to the project.”  The captain barked out even as Bulma pointed to the receiver tucked between her shoulder and her ear.  She reached for a pad of paper and a pen, noticing as she bent over slightly to reach her workstation drawers that her cell phone screen had lit up with a message from Yamcha, _Hey what do you think about this outfit?  Too yellow?_

_Yamcha seriously any yellow is too yellow for a guy_ Bulma quickly texted back as the Caterer on the other end of the line said, “Ok we’ve got a seafood salad or a sashimi plate.”

     “Whichever one gives us more for the money.”  Bulma said as the North City captain gave a loud, disgruntled sigh and placed his cheek in his palm, propping himself up impatiently as Bulma held her index finger aloft to signal him to wait.  “No we don’t have any dietary limitations, I established that with the employees before—“  _ok well how about this one – crème is like a white color, right_?

     _Yamcha crème is crème_   “Ok well umm are we settled on the food then because I have to go?”

     “Just one more thing Miss Bulma – do you still want Astia flowers for the centerpieces?  Those are out of season and there’s quite a premium to be paid for that amount of Astia at this time of year.”

     “Don’t care just make it happen.”  _Ok well is this crème?_  

_I can’t tell because your finger is covering the camera.  Can’t talk now, in a meeting_.  “Captain.”  Bulma said with a deep breath as she turned her attention to the video screen, “How many days has it been since you dropped off the gun and the plans at Capsule corp?”

     “Five.  Without a single solitary status update or communication from you, I might add.”  The Captain said directly into the camera without a hint of amusement in his voice, “This gun needs be ready for production in no less than 10 days.  The government repercussions against Capsule will be severe if the promised modifications are not produced.  Seems to me like you’re too worried about food and flowers to make this project happen.  This kind of distraction is exactly why we wanted Dr. Briefs to work on this project instead of his daughter!!”

     “And how many days did you give us to—“ _hey should I go for a tie or a bowtie?  Which one would go with alligator leather shoes?_ “Ahem sorry I need to put that on silent.  How many days did you give us to work on this project.”

     “Ten.  But that doesn’t mean that we should have to wait in the dark without some indication of where you are at with all this.”

     _So all the food’s free right?_     
  
     Bulma felt her blood pressure starting to rise. “I still have a few more tests to make.  You’ll get it when I’m done.”  She said, arching one slender eyebrow upwards as her mouth downturned. 

     The North City militia captain made a grunt.  “Hmph, Five more days of you doing what?”

     “Miss Bulma I’m sorry to interrupt but I have the linen company on the other line regarding the tables.”  Said Bulma’s assistant in a secondary chat screen in the lower left corner of her video call.  “They want to know if you decided between round or rectangle.”

     “Rounds.”  Bulma said to the secondary window, “See you in five days” she said just as dismissively to the military captain, _yes the food is free_ she typed to Yamcha, and finally all three phones went silent. 

     Dr. Briefs lightly tapped his pen on his desk as he watched his little girl bury her head in her hands.  “Listen, Bulma,” He said as his little black cat Scratch leaped up to his shoulder and snuggled against his neck, “You know I don’t care about their contract with us. If you object to what they’re doing, then don’t do it.”

     “Thanks Dad.  It’s ok.”  Bulma tilted the screen of her phone to briefly read over her messages.  “Dad, what did Vegeta say to Yamcha this morning?”

     “Hmmm well,“  Dr. Briefs said as he shuffled towards the laboratory doors, “Before you judge him too harshly, perhaps I should tell you, I received a little gift of sorts today myself . . . “

_Did you get my package?_

         _Vegeta didn’t mess with it, did he?_

_Bulma_

_Bulma_

_Hello_

_Well I went with the yellow_

 

 

***

    

     Bulma ventured out to the backyard.  She looked all around herself, around trees, bushes, the patio, the Gravity room in the near distance silent and still, no faces in the windows in the building behind her, no Z Fighters in the sky sailing towards Capsule for a friendly chat or a free meal; She turned off her cell phone and tossed it gently onto the lawn.  Alone.  After a hellish day of tweaking a weapon she hated, fending off phone calls from caterers and event specialists, directing clueless junior scientists and lab stooges through the fundamentals of safely handling an energy-based discharge device, Bulma Briefs was finally alone.  No Yamcha, no dad, no mom, no fuckboy alien with grabby hands or mean things to say to her friends, just sweet silence and her mother’s neatly manicured flower garden.  She sank down into a nearby chaise and treated herself to a cigarette.  She closed her eyes as she inhaled, the rush of nicotine slowing down time as it spread through her body, a perfect, fresh taste, alive with fire, the drug flooding from her lungs to all the fine capillaries under the skin.  She stuck her elbow up in the air and tucked her hand behind her head as she exhaled, sending out a small plume of gray smoke.  “You’re standing over me, aren’t you Vegeta?”

     “I thought humans were unable to sense Ki.”

     “No, we can’t sense ki, but . . . “  She said as she took another hit off her cigarette, “I know when someone’s watching me, and I had a pretty good feeling it was you.”

     “What is this thing that you are doing?”

     “Ugh, seriously.”  She said, opening her eyes to the sight of Vegeta in his workout clothes, wearing a look of condescension on his face.  “I’ve had a hard day and I’m having a smoke, ok? It’s the closest thing to getting away from it all that I’m going to have for while.”

     Vegeta’s eyebrows pinched together as she took another hit off the cigarette.  He rubbed the side of his face with the towel around his shoulders and took a few steps towards the main Capsule Corp building before Bulma spoke again,  “Dad told me what you did today.”

     Vegeta paused and turned his head over his shoulder.  He gave the water bottle in his hand a squeeze.

     “Dad said . . . that you gave him the 10,000 Zeni you won from the wrestling event, is that true?”

     “Has your father ever kept the habit of lying?”

     “um, NO he’s my FATHER, HELLO!”  Bulma spat out.

     “Then why would you doubt he was telling the truth?”

     “Why . . . would you give him 10,000 Zeni??  I mean, you know we have plenty of—“

     “I’m not a freeloader and I have no use for Earth’s currency.  If it assists with room and board then the householder should have it.”  Vegeta snapped, “The only debts I care to manage are those that are payable by my own strength.”

     “You could have used that for clothes . . .  or food . . . souvenirs for your time on earth, maybe?”

     “Tch.  Don’t need to keep any reminders of this place.”

     “Could have used it for a night on the town.”  She said as she peeked around the side of the chaise with her wicked smile.

     “We don’t need to go out on the town.  You’ve said yourself on no uncertain terms that all we’re doing is fucking.”

     Bulma turned and faced the flowers again.  She propped her hand under her elbow and used it to hold the cigarette just inches from her lips as she pouted and scowled unseen.    “Fine.  What about what happened with you and Yamcha this morning? 

    “I wish to bathe, woman.  There is nothing left to discuss of the matter.”

     “I believe there IS Vegeta.  Dad said Krillin barely held Yamcha back.”    

     “The man is a nuisance.  I told him he should have stayed dead.”

     “He’s also a friend of mine.”  Bulma said with many more words queuing in her brain to say but too much dedication to the enjoyment of her cigarette to say them.  “I’ve known him for way longer than I’ve known you.  He’s actually a really great guy with a lot of good things going for him.”  

     “He’s a nuisance and he ought to be told as much.”

     “Well, it’s not like he does it intentionally!”

     Vegeta gave a little growl.  “What is it that he gave to you today?” 

     Bulma rolled her eyes to herself and let out a giant, body heaving sigh.  She flicked the ashes off of her cigarette and brought it up to her lips, pausing before she absently answered, “Just a . . . thing.”

     “A token of affection, was it not?”

     “YES, a TOKEN of AFFECTION, you know, something you give to someone you care about when you’re not actively fucking them right at that moment?”

     “He is not your mate.”

     “Ok no, no he isn’t, but neither are you so what does it matter?”

     “wha--IT MATTERS BECAUSE AS LONG AS YOU ARE LEADING HIM ON, HE WILL CONTINUE TO BE A PEST!!”  Vegeta said as he stomped over to where she was until he was standing in front of her, “So while you are sitting here enjoying your . . . odd little stationary vacation, puffing away at some magical plant that neither transports you nor makes you fly, he is no doubt plotting and scheming his way of earning your favor and takes your acceptance of such a gift as a clear signal that you are receptive to his advances!!”

     “He’s just being nice, geez cut it out!”

     “He shows you affection because he’s soft and weak and it’s the only recourse he has of taking you from a rival.”  Vegeta said, his face lighting up scarlet red as he mentally reexamined the meaning of his words soon after they escaped his lips.

     Bulma laid her head back and let the hand holding her cigarette droop over the arm, inches above the phone that was still laying in the grass, buzzing with yet another message from Yamcha.

     “It’s him again isn’t it?”

     “Yes, in fact it is.”  She said in a patronizing tone as she scooped the phone up off the ground.

     “Well what does he want this time?!”

     “I dunno, why don’t you read it?!”  she said as she flashed the phone screen up to him.

     Vegeta turned his face away from her as his cheeks started to burn.  “Well that was unnecessary.”

     “Look, there’s no need to get jealous about anything.  He’s just bugging me about what to wear to the party.”

      “Bugging . . . now that’s more like it—from your own lips you admit that he is a nuisance!”  Vegeta retorted, “Glad to see that you and I can finally agree on something.”

     “I’m not agreeing with you, it’s just a figure of speech!”

     “The man behaves as though he can’t make a single solitary decision on his own!”

    “He just wants to look good, Vegeta.” Bulma warned as she tapped in her answer to Yamcha.

     “And are you guiding him through what outfit pleases you the most?  Perhaps he could wear secret undergarments that are meant for your titillation.”

      Bulma stood up and thrust her balled up fists to her sides.  “FOR YOUR INFORMATION he wanted to coordinate outfits with me so that it wouldn’t look like I was going to this company function by myself!!!  It’s kind of embarrassing for a girl of my beauty and social class to be going to a party without an escort, you know!! Imagine, me, the princess of Capsule Corp, all alone at my own royal ball!!”

     “Hmph well so glad you have him at your beck and call!” Vegeta said as he leaned into her.

     “It’s not like I could ask you!”

     “No of course not, that’s far too embarrassing for a woman of your beauty and social class!  Better to dress up the trash and pass him off as a groom than to present your subjects with the lowly drone you retain for your sexual pleasure!”

     “OH COME ON, VEGETA!!! YOU WOULDN’T OWN UP TO OUR RELATIONSHIP IF YOUR LIFE DEPENDED ON IT!!”  she said as faces began to appear in the windows of the Capsule Corp building behind her.

     “HE’S TRASH!!  YOU KNOW THAT HE’S TRASH AND YOU ONLY CLING TO HIM BECAUSE HE IS CONVENIENT!!”  Vegeta shouted as Bulma’s phone buzzed again.  “YOU SEE?!?  HE COULDN’T CHOOSE HIS WAY TO BREATHE IF IT WASN’T AUTOMATIC!!”

     “OH YEAH?  WELL AT LEAST HE’S NOT SOME JERK!!”

     “AND THAT IS WHERE YOU’RE WRONG!!  DO YOU REALLY THINK HE DOES THESE THINGS OUT OF SOME SORT OF CARE OR CONCERN FOR YOU?!  YOU THINK HE CARES ABOUT MAKING YOU LOOK GOOD?  HE WANTS TO KNOW WHAT OUTFIT WILL LAND HIM THE MOST FEMALES SO THAT THE ODDS OF MATING ARE IN HIS FAVOR!! HE DOESN’T GIVE A DAMN ABOUT IMPRESSING YOU, OTHERWISE HE WOULD BE THE ONE IN YOUR BED AND HE WOULD THE ONE GIVING YOUR FATHER 10,000 ZONIS OR ZANIS OR WHATEVER YOU CALL THEM!!”

     “GET OUT OF MY BACKYARD!!!”  she screached as she pointed towards the capsule corp building, “LEAVE ME ALONE!!!!”

     Prince Vegeta spun on his heel and walked off towards the Capsule Corp building, his eyes scanning over all the faces in the windows peeping out around them.  _I’d blast them all!! Horrible, vulgar female. . . who does she think she is??_


	9. pure of heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vegeta reflects upon his lot in life and its relationship to the Super Saiyan form while Bulma wrangles a team of junior scientists . . . how will this cold war end?
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Vegeta lay in bed early in the morning with his hands tucked under his head, eyes burning a hole in the ceiling, thoughts rampaging through his head that alternated between Freiza , the Androids, Kakarot, that mysterious boy with lavender hair in his Capsule Corp jacket, his stolen glances, how strange his gaze, how easily the Super Saiyan form had come to both he and Kakarot, with all of these thoughts underlined by the sound of her voice screeching _GET OUT OF MY BACKYARD!! LEAVE ME ALONE!!!_    

     He sat up as the brilliant blonde sun came blasting in through the nearby window, cutting diagonal across his lap.  He held up his hand in the sunbeam and observed its brilliant yellow light, how it seemed to sparkle, how it laid a faint electric glow over the surface of his scarred skin.  He thought of what the little bald man had said about Kakarot, of how there had never been someone so pure of heart, even as compared to other earth dwellers.  How pure would his heart had stayed had he been the one to be enslaved by Freiza?   Would he have been retained for his lineage, or remain as invisible as all the other commoners of their race?  Vegeta briefly recalled the feeling . . . of being treated like an attack dog that was equally feared and revered, that was kept to the utmost standards of discipline yet would never rank among the elite, of how he had made the promise to Nappa and Raditz, the only other “monkey-face primates” on the ship, that someday, when he were grown and his royal blood was ripe with rage, the Super Saiyan in him would arise, and free them from the tyranny of Freiza.   Then they would become the most powerful in all the universe, then they would command what was left of Freiza’s army, and blanket the universe with their might.  And then . . . then they would die . . . alone . . . three male Saiyan primates, most powerful, unmatched in brute strength, yet for as hardy as he had always imagined that they would celebrate--with violence and bloodshed and debauchery as brothers in combat were entitled to enjoy--eventually, by age or by challenge, by injury or disease, by uprising or the slow, suffocating death of peace, they would die, with no planet, no people, and no legacy to prove that they had ever really lived and weren’t just the stuff of myth, not just a small strange blip in history.

     Vegeta pushed himself to the edge of the bed and felt his foot touch something soft and fuzzy.  He rolled his eyes to himself.  He dipped his fingers to the floor and brought both the little black cat and the slipper he was curled up in at eye level to his face.   The smell of coffee was wafting in from under the door, and he was still undressed. 

     And so he readied himself for a confrontation.  He donned his full Saiyan Armor and soldiered down the hallway to the dining room of the Briefs family.  Her mother and father were of course sitting there, smiling and chatting with one another, bumping shoulders, sharing adoring looks as their daughter flipped the switches and shook the portafilter on the coffee machine all stone-faced and drained, like one who had not slept the whole night before.  He counted the cups on the table and noticed that she had once again forgotten a cup for herself, but as he set her usual cup down next to his, she coldly quipped, “I’ll just take mine to go, thanks.”  And filled a large paper cup instead.

***

“No. No.  No.  No.  and NO! Gosh I can’t believe you guys!!”  Bulma said as she looked over the paper test sheets, the very test sheets that had designed to be quick, simple and thorough mauled by incorrect marks and data placed in the wrong field, numbers that could not have possibly applied to the project, results that seemed like they were from a different project altogether.  “It’s no different than the test sheets you would have used in the labs at university you know, it’s just specific to Capsule Corp!”

     “But Miss Bulma, we always recorded our data over here!”

            “I’m left handed and if I write my data there it will smear.”

                  “I wrote my data on the sheet.  That’s an E not a 3.”

                       “That field was off by 1/3rd of a point, so I assumed any data I recorded past that point would also be off by 1/3rd and therefore invalidated.”

       “GUYS ITS JUST A STUPID SHEET!!  How far did you actually make it in testing this item yesterday while I was out???”

     “Shin touched it.”

         “I ran a chamber integrity test, I didn’t need to touch it for that!”

               “Hey Miss Bulma, your desk phone is ringing again.”

     Bulma lifted her goggles and glanced at the phone on her desk.  “Kami, it’s those caterers again . . . . come on, let’s just take this outside.” 

     Bulma led her team of junior scientists to a small motorized cart in the garage.  They drove out to a field close to Capsule corp that was bare except for a broad, thick wall that jutted up from a slightly curved mound of grass like toast out of a toaster.  She set up a small table at the far end of the field then laid a series of capsules on it, clicking each one sequentially until seven separate models of guns unfolded themselves from the caps, ending in the energy gun.  “Now I want you to each take a shot at that wall, then we’re going to measure how deep the projectile penetrated it, what kind of scatter it created, and what, if any, structural compromise happened as a result of the shot.”

     “I can’t do that.”

     “Ok, why?”

     “I’m a pacifist.”

     “You’re a pacifist?”

     “Yes.”

     “And you felt no need to tell me about this until now?”

     “Y-yes.  Sorry I just needed a job.”

     “O-K.  Shin?”

     “I-I’ve never fired a gun before!”

     “Alright then you, what’s your name again?”

     “Becky.”

     “Have you ever fired a gun before?”

     “Oh yeah!  Lots of times!!”

     “Ok then.  I want you to pick up each gun and fire off one round towards that wall, ready?”  She said as the girl pulled her goggles over her eyes and readied the weapon.  “Becky?”

     “Yes Miss Bulma?”

     “Your safety is still on.”

     “Oh!!  Never had to do that in Weapon of Duty Tee Hee!”

     “Weapon of—you, you do have real life weapons experience, right?”

     “Well, they say Weapon of Duty is really realistic and I’m familiar with every weapon even the hidden weapons you can only get after 100 plays and this one time I no scoped an enemy sniper from five miles away and it was so awesome I couldn’t believe that trick actually worked but it did and I was on the leaderboard for a whole week and—“

     “Ok, ok Becky you know what let’s . . . how ‘bout I fire the weapons and you guys gather the data, ready?”

     “NO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! WE’LL GET KILLED!!!!!!!!”

     “I meant you’ll gather the data after I create the spread!!!”

     “Ohhhhhhhhhh!!!!!”

     “Oh my Kami I am too tired for this shit today.”  Bulma mumbled to herself as she fired the first weapon, and then the second and on down the line until the wall looked like a perforated piece of paper, pausing at the energy weapon.  She signaled the young scientists to make their recordings, lighting up a cigarette soon after they took their first steps towards the wall.  She looked over her shoulder, taking a look at the backyard where her mother was watering the flowers, at the chaise where she’d enjoyed her last cigarette much to Vegeta’s condescending befuddlement.  _He shows you affection because he’s soft and weak and it’s the only recourse he has of taking you from a rival!!_ “Hmph.  Who does he think he is?”  She said to herself as her team returned from the wall with their recorders.  “Ok, so now we’re going to fire the big gun.  I’m going to show you how load this thing without getting your hand blown off, ok?”  Bulma said, “You have to listen for the click above the squeal.  If there’s no click, that means there’s still space left in the chamber and it won’t discharge anything but light, which would be about as useless as firing a flashlight at somebody.  Now ready, aim . . . ”,

     “B-b-but won’t that destroy the wall?”

     “Well yeah that’s kind of the point.  Ok, again, ready, aim . . .”  she said, narrowing her eyes on the target, briefly imagining Vegeta, the same Vegeta the military captain had shown her in his projection of the spacemen who destroyed west city, the evil Saiyan, the man who had beat an innocent, 5 year old Gohan almost to death, who had killed the enemies Goku had shown mercy to out of his own malice, and then she discharged the weapon.  A green ball of light swept towards the wall, collapsing it as it hit, sending all the junior scientists to the ground as Bulma stood with a look of slight disappointment on her face.  “It’s too slow.”  She muttered.  “The power level is right, but it’s far too slow to hit a Sai—I mean, a spaceman.  So I guess there’s no point in measuring the depth of that blow, but did any of the shots I took with the regular projectile guns cause any structural problems that may have assisted the wall in collapsing?”

     The Junior scientists each took out their data collectors while they were still seated on the ground.  They pushed through a few buttons, sifting through their electronic data sheets until they all three looked to one another with the same stricken look on their faces.  “Uh-uh-ummm, M-M-Miss Bulma?”

     “Yes?”

     “S-ssomething happened.”

     “Ok, what happened?”

     “Th-the data sheet . . . I-I guess I started it for the three of us to share and—“

     “And I was the last one to have it open and I . . . I forgot to save.”  Said Becky as her eyes welled up with tears.

     “You play Weapon of Duty every day . . . and YOU’RE the one who forgot to SAVE?!”  Bulma said as the young scientist cringed.  “Ok.   Ok you know what?  Not a problem.  We’ll just have a team of masons rebuild an entire ballistics testing wall!  I’m sure they could do that within three days!!!”  She said as she took her cigarette back up again from the table.  “Seriously guys just . . . just go back to the lab.  Take the cart and go back.”

       And so the three junior scientists headed off towards Capsule, leaving Bulma alone in the field with a strange sense of guilt gnawing at her stomach over the weapon she held in her right hand.  It was indeed far too slow to kill a Saiyan, but she had seen both Vegeta and Goku immobilized before, usually by their own stupid need to clobber one another to prove who was the most powerful.  How would anyone from the North City Militia, or any other military unit for that matter, be able to pick out the one who was pure of heart?  Why had she herself never picked the one who was pure of heart? 

     Bulma felt her phone buzz in the pocket of her lab coat.  “Vegeta is here in the hangar asking to speak with you.” Said her father via video chat, “Can you return to Capsule, please?”

***


	10. Into the crater!  Bulma & Vegeta's fireside chat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the deadline set by the North City Militia quickly approaching, Bulma has no time for Vegeta's odd request for an airship, but why is the Saiyan Prince being so persistent . . . and so secretive ? 
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     “I am in need of a vessel.”

     “A vessel?”  Bulma said.

     “It needs to be large.  Something with such living luxuries as a bed and a shower.”

     “Umm, Ooookkkkk . . . “  Bulma briefly turned her head over her shoulder and made eye contact with her father, who simply shrugged his shoulders.  “Weeeeeee have an airship available that is already fueled and not scheduled for use until after the Capsule Corp company function.  This one.”  She said, leading him to a massive Capsule Corp branded airship that was perched on a strange set of bendable metal legs.  She pressed a button and set of silvery stairs unfolded from the ship’s side.

     Vegeta set foot upon the steps.  “Can you fly it?”

     “I made it.  I can fly it.”

     “Then come, there is something I wish to show you.”  He said, entering the craft. 

     “Show me?  Are you asking me to go somewhere with you?”  She said as he turned his shoulder coldly away from her, “Vegeta I have work to do and this thing is slow.  Don’t you think that’s the slightest bit rude, assuming that I can just drop everything to play airship pilot to somebody who can already fly?”  She said, pouting as she wrapped her arms around herself.  “Where is this place?  How long is this going to take?” 

     But Vegeta did not answer.  He was already at the top of the steps in the spacious cabin of the aircraft, eyes scanning over buttons and panels.  There was an open chamber to the left where a set of bunks and two individual beds provided accommodations for up to 8 to sleep, and two sliding chairs connected to a round control panel at the front of the vessel.  Above and around the control panel the ship was transparent, armored in bullet proof tempered glass that was crystal clear, ugly green steel where the bunks were bolted down, voice responsive monitors all around whose screens rippled when Vegeta barked down to her, “Well?  Are you coming or not?”

     Bulma bit the inside of her lower lip.  She felt around on the inside of her short, white lab coat and squeezed the cigarette lighter with her thumb on the striker like she could have just set herself on fire rather than take an order from him.  “This isn’t a space class vessel you know, so if that’s where you’re wanting to go Vegeta you can just forget it.”

     Vegeta narrowed his eyes.  He tilted his head towards the control panel of the ship and Bulma took her hands out of her pockets, wrapping them around the slick, shiny safety rail up the steps to the hull of the ship where he was already seated, cross armed and cross legged, eyes following her from the door to the pilot’s seat. 

     Bulma’s hands dashed over the buttons on the control panel, closing the door to the ship and opening the hangar.  “I hope this is worth the fuel it’s going to take to get this thing out the door.”  She said as the ship began to buzz through its warm up routine, “This isn’t exactly a ship you’d fly on a casual weekday.”

     “It’s necessary.”  He responded.  “You’ll see.”

     “Alright just . . . tell me where to go.”  She said, drawing the “legs” of the machine until it sat hovering on its on propulsion, the roar of its power reverberating off the hangar walls and faintly through the tempered glass.

     “Take it out to the wasteland.”  He said, and Bulma pressed the ship forward, setting course for the Z fighter’s favorite training grounds, far beyond the reaches of civilization.  The ship was maddeningly slow and lumbering, and at times it seemed to move no faster than one of earth’s white puffy clouds.  “At this rate it will be dark by the time we get there.  Can’t this thing go any faster?”  he snarled.

     “You wanted to take it.”  She said, planting her face against her knuckles.  “If you wanted fast, we could have chosen any number of jets or planes or helicopters from the hangar, but I gave you a choice and you said you wanted this one.”

     “I wanted something spacious . . . with a view . . . “

     “Why?”

     Vegeta renewed the tight hold he had over himself.  He swiveled in his chair, turning slightly away from her, staying respectfully silent while the ship crawled through the air over the lush, green deciduous forests that girded the wasteland.  He listened to her sigh and whine as she tapped through the messages coming from a Capsule Corp that was hopelessly misguided in her absence.  He watched her grit her teeth and plow her fingers through her own hair as their insolent, incompetent answers came back time after time, begging for her guidance and input.  “Why don’t you tell them to fuck off.”  He said as the ship’s nose breeched the rocky border of the wasteland.

     “Oh I don’t know, maybe because responsibilities.”  She said more with her hands than her mouth. 

     “They’re scientists, aren’t they?  Why can’t they think for themselves?”  He quipped, as yet another message rolled in.  “We need to move in that direction.”  He said, pointing to the left. 

     “What?  Ugh!!”  She said as she slapped the distracting message terminal back into its holding place within the control panel. 

     “Take this vessel there, between those two peaks.”

     “Vegeta look, I can’t get that kind of altitude in this thing!”  She said, “and if we clip the sides, we’ll rupture the fuel tanks.  Can’t we just—“

     Vegeta quickly unbuckled himself from his chair and entered the airlock, turning himself outside as soon as the inner door was sealed.  He flew outside just beyond the side of the ship where Bulma sat, staying just ahead of the laminar flow of the great machine, motioning with his hands towards the high and jagged peaks of his intended destination.  Bulma turned the great airship about and followed.  She pushed the elevation up a little higher as he gained altitude, secretly cursing his effortless agility as she crept the ship close enough to see the impatient expression on his face.  She breathed a sigh of relief as he pushed his hands down to signal her ability to safely descend, and as the ship sank lower and lower, she came to realize that there was something hidden in the space between the peaks—a crater, lined in concentric circles by trees that were short and twisted and broad-leafed with large, smooth pods of yellow and orange and brown growing heavily from their trunks and branches.  Bulma placed the airship on auto and jumped out of her seat.  She pressed her face against the glass and fumbled for the ship’s scanner, her eyes glued to the pods.  “Are you serious?!  No way!!”  she said, a bright smile creeping over her face as she looked over the scanner’s readings.  They were cacao trees, untapped, undiscovered, cacao trees still growing in their primal state, a treasure of natural richness.  “Why would he . . . I mean, what would even make him think . . . “  and the landing perimeter alarm began to beep.  Bulma rushed back to the control panel.  She used the spotter to find a level landing space but each time the legs were sent out from the belly of the ship they reported _Vegetation_ _Obstruction! Vegetation Obstruction! Override?  Vegetation Obstruction!_  

     Bulma looked quizzically at the controls for the landing legs.  She brought up the viewer for the underside of the ship and drew in a sharp gasp of surprise as she came to see what the obstruction was.  She ran to the door as soon as the landing was marked as stabilized, slapping the panel repeatedly in her excitement to rush it open, halfway not believing what the screen had shown, but as steps rolled down to the broad-leafed plants below and the fresh, sweet scent billowed up to the sterile insides of the ship, it was quite apparent that the monitor was not incorrect—the entire crater floor was nothing but a giant patch of red, ripe, boulder sized strawberries!

     “This . . . this is so wonderful!”  Bulma said as the 19 year old girl in her 30 year old self lit up inside with a wild and long absent sense of adventure.  The air inside the crater was warm and thick and filled with the sounds of life—peeping tree frogs and chirping crickets, the whoops of monkeys and the distant rumble of dinosaurs, all laced together by the complicated, melodious mating calls of exotic birds.  She delighted in the sight of them as they flew from tree to tree with their long tails trailing like sparkling stars and wings as blue as the night that was threatening to soon descend.  “Oh Vegeta,”  she said to herself as the Saiyan prince warily scanned the upper rings of the cacao forest.  He unfurled his hands from their tightly crossed position just long enough to reach out and pick a dark purple pod from the nearest tree, then lowered himself down to the crater floor.   

          “I thought at first they were coffee beans.  They’re bitter and stimulating, like that morning drink you make.”  He said, turning the cocoa pod about in his hands.  “but when I was last here I tasted them and they seemed to have had a slightly noxious effect.”

     “Oh my god you can’t just bite a cacao pod and eat it!  You have to cook them and add something . . . sweet.”  She said, raising her eyes on the last word of her sentence with a blush. 

      “Do you know how to prepare them?”

     “Psh, NO!”  Bulma said with a roll of her eyes, “It’s not exactly a common household food, at least, not in its raw state.  I mean, how long have you known about this place?  How on earth did you find it?”

     “I’ve been trained to find the value in a planet, remember?”  Vegeta scoffed as she gently pushed past him to lay her hands on the nearest strawberry.  “There are certain things that are fairly unique to Earth that would have fetched a high price on the galactic market had I still . . . tch.”  He said, cutting himself off with a shake of his head. 

     “So why didn’t you?”  Bulma said as she bent over to bring her nose close to the prehistoric strawberry.

     “Why didn’t I what?”

     “Why didn’t you return to space after Frieza was defeated?  You could have, you know.  I mean, you’re not Namekian so it’s not as if you _had_ to relocate here.  Why did you stay?”

     And although Vegeta averted his eyes, it was easy for Bulma to notice the burn.  She’d seen the same look on his face when he begrudgingly made the suggestion on how to bring Goku back from the other side.  “If you think it’s because of some sort of . . . affection . . . that I hold for this planet or its inhabitants . . . “  he growled as she brought her knees to the ground next to the giant strawberry.

     “Ha!  I would never think that about you.”  She said, running her hand over the strawberry’s pitted surface.  “Did you eat any of these?”

     “Too sweet for my tastes.”

     “So that’s a yes?”  She said as he crossed his arms tightly again, “Oh come on you said you took a bite of one of the cocoa beans.  I mean, how do I know these strawberries aren’t poisonous?”

     Vegeta slid his eyes down to their very corners.   He watched as Bulma tested the surface of the deep red fruit with her tongue, and began to sweat just a bit as she opened her mouth a little wider, pressing her teeth down just slightly against the strawberry’s distinctive, suggestive shape.  “DON’T YOU HAVE A SCANNER?!”  he barked out before she could bite down.

     “Haha you don’t hold any affection for us _inhabitants_.”  Bulma said with a wink as she wrapped her arms around the circumference of the strawberry’s top, “What would you care if I dropped dead?”

     “I don—STOP THAT!!” he said as she bit down far enough to force out the juice.  Vegeta quickly plunged his gloved hand into the thick of the strawberry.  He pulled out a squishy red chunk and stuffed it into his mouth, furrowing his brow as he furiously chewed.  “Fine. Fine.  It’s fine.”  He said between bites, “Not poison.”

     Bulma gave a giggle that grew into a earnest, crater-filling laugh.  “Vegeta, the royal food taster!!”  She said, renewing her high pitched laugh, flushing the birds from their hiding places among the strawberry plants and the monkeys from their perches in the trees.  They left in a wave that seemed to ripple across the vast expanse of giant strawberry fronds, but then, in an eerie turn of power, the wave returned . . . returned by the presence of a giant, angry, carnivorous dinosaur that burst through the vegetation just behind Bulma! 

     The dino roared and flayed out the talons on its odd numbered fingers, snapping its jaws closed directly behind the Capsule Corp princess.  Bulma’s eyes went wide with fear.  She screamed and jumped up from the ground, and as she ran the dino tried to follow, except that Vegeta had caught it by the tail and was digging his feet hard into the mud.  “Not today, beast!” He spat out as Bulma ran deep into the thick of the strawberry plants, but the dino was large and unwieldy and quickly knocked the Saiyan Prince off balance by the weight of its sheer bulk.  It paid little attention to the royal food taster attached to its tail as it followed Bulma’s trail, racing through the dense tangles of plants as though they were nothing more than cloud fluff.

     Bulma stuck her hands in her lab coat pockets—nothing.  She quickly slid out of her lab coat and left it on the ground, sticking her hands in her shorts pockets instead.  She felt her cylindrical savior in the tiny change pocket to her pants, popping it out with her thumb.  She pressed the tab and threw it in the air, and with a small BOM! The capsule morphed into a high-powered automatic assault riffle, which she quickly turned on the dino as soon as it landed in her hands.  “Make a meal out of me, will ya?”  she shouted, unleashing a barrage of bullets on the beast, but a Dino’s skin was tough—tougher than any projectile Capsule Corp could make, and no matter how on target her shots seemed to be, they did little to harm the dinosaur.  It instead stopped and waved away the bullets like they were a bad bunch of mosquitos, an annoying bunch of mosquitos, an annoying, enraging bunch of mosquitos that teased the already hunger-crazed dino.  Bulma tilted her gun upwards and aimed for the eyes.  She got one shot in and the dino slapped its head against the ground, rubbing its bad eye furiously into the plants before letting out a roar that shocked Bulma senseless with terror.  She dropped the gun felt around the change pocket on the other side of her shorts for the gun, _the_ gun that she had been tasked to perfect by the North City Militia.  The dinosaur lunged its head forward.  She pressed the cap and the great silver gun materialized.  She listened for the click above the squeal but furious dino’s teeth were so close that she could feel the snap of its jaws reverberate within her bones.  Out of fright, Bulma pulled the trigger before it was time, releasing the stored energy in a small, useless poof of light.  She clenched her fingers around the trigger to charge it up again, but the Dino lunged its head forward and took a bite out of her shirt  “VEGETA!!!” she screamed, and suddenly the Saiyan prince appeared in the sky above them, his ki glowing in the low light of early night.  He let out a savage call, and a blue ki blast hit the dinosaur on the neck and severed its head!

     Vegeta’s feet touched ground as the dinosaur’s headless body fell with a mighty, earth-shaking thud.   “What an annoyance.”  He said as Bulma clutched her chest, eyes white and wide.  Vegeta reached his hand into the stump of the dinosaur’s neck, pulled out a pink piece of meat and stuffed it into his face.  “Not Bad.”  He said with his mouth full.

     Bulma’s eyes darted from the gun in her trembling hand to the decapitated dinosaur, to Vegeta’s chipmunk cheeks.  She let out three puffs of air and on the fourth, she gave an awkward chortle, which broke into a laugh that she quickly muffled with her hand.  Gun, chipmunk cheeks, neck stump, gun, Vegeta stopping mid chew and looking at her as if she had lost her mind, and Bulma found herself bent over with laughter.  She laughed so hard that she wrapped her arms around herself and crumbled to the ground. 

     “What’s wrong with you woman?”  Vegeta muttered between bites, “has fear revoked the thin hold you had over your sanity?”

      Bulma slowed her laughter and answered with a smile, “Get me some branches, I want to make a fire.”

***

“Did I ever tell you . . .” Bulma said, allowing in the sound of the campfire with the leading cadence of her voice, “That when I first met Goku, I shot him in the head?” 

     Vegeta took his mouth off the nearly clean dinosaur rib and turned his head towards Bulma.

     “Ok so, I was driving around the countryside looking for the Dragonballs, right?  Teenage kid, first time out on my own, away from home, then I came upon this little incline and all of the sudden he was standing there with this big fish over his shoulder.  I hit the brakes but I didn’t have time to stop, so I hit him.  Well, he got pissed off because he thought I was some sort of monster out to steal his fish, and he lifted up the car and threw it, with me inside!  So I did what any other 19 year old girl alone with a super-strong kid would do—I pulled out a handgun and I took a few shots.”  She said as she took a bite of the fire-cooked dinosaur meat. 

     “Mmm, didn’t kill him though, that’s too bad.”  Vegeta replied, feeling an odd little sense of pride in watching her eat the dinosaur that he felled.  “What of his female?  What do you make of her?”

     “Who, Chi-chi?  Ugh Kami, well . . .” she said as she tore off a piece of strawberry, “She does a good job of keeping him in line.  Would hate to see what he’d be like without her.  You know, speaking of dinosaurs, she used to wear this weird helmet when she was just a little kid that could send out flying blades, and she like, killed a dinosaur about this size when they were still kids.  I think she was like, maybe 10?”

     “Oh.  Is that so.”  He flatly answered as his momentary pride quickly deflated. 

     “Yeah, well, once a psycho, always a psycho.  Except for you, you’ve . . . . kind of surprised me.”

     “Surprised?”  he said, cocking his eyebrow.

     “I . . .  was really very frightened of you.  When you landed on Earth with Nappa it just seemed like, well, this is it!  This is the end!  This is how it’s all going to go down.  But at the same time, it was really kind of awe-inspiring, you know? To see someone of Goku’s race who ummm . . . . wasn’t a complete dumbass.  Wait that . . . that’s actually kind of racist against Saiyans, isn’t it?”  She said with a giggle as she brought the meat back up to her mouth, “I just could not imagine a whole planet full of Gokus, ok?  Like how would you ever have civilizations or toilets or even basic sexual reproduction??”

     “We were NOT like Kakarot.”  Vegeta said with a groan. 

     “So what were your people actually like?  I mean—“  Bulma said as a yawn interrupted, “You’ve never really talked much about what life was like on your planet.  Was it like this one?”

     “No.”  He said as he lifted his eyes to the trees that lined the crater.  “Not like this one.”

     “Well what was it like?  Were there lots of animals?”

     “There were close to none.”

     “Oh.  Grass?  Trees?”

     “No.  It was not like your world.”  He said as he tossed the rib bone over his shoulder.  “There were very few trees.”

     “Oceans?”

     “Tch are you—of course not!”

     “Lakes?!  Streams?!  Muddy puddles?!”

     “Water is something grossly disproportionate to your planet.”

     “What about your language?”  Bulma said, and Vegeta grew strangely still and quiet.  “I mean, there was a specific Saiyan language at one point, wasn’t there?”

     Vegeta wrung his gloved hands together.   His eyes circled around the perimeter of the crater and beyond, up to the bright white stars that were shinning down on them from an unpolluted sky. 

     “What about that sound you always make when someone gets on your nerves or you’re upset about something?  Does it have some special meaning?”

      “Sound?  What sound?”

      “C’mon THAT sound . . . you know, that ‘Tch’!”  she said as she made a face.

     “It’s just a . . . it’s nothing.”  He snapped, “Just a word.”

     “So it actually is a word and not a nervous tick I see . . . “ she said with a wide, deep yawn.  “See?  I didn’t know.”  She said as she closed her eyes, and her head began to droop.

    “Tch’zul.”

     “Hmm?  What?”  Bulma said as her head perked meekly up from between her shoulder blades again, “What was that?”

      “The full word is Tch’zul.  It’s a common profanity.”

     “Oh.  Well what does it mean?” she said as she lowered herself to the ground beside the fire, her belly heavy with food, ears filled with the healing sounds of a calm and peaceful nature, warm fire glowing before her, birds, monkeys, Vegeta . . .  “Oh, sorry.  I’m sorry Vegeta I don’t mean to drag you into small talk.”  Bulma said as her eyelids grew heavier and heavier, “It’s just that, this was all so . . . unexpected, this place, this . . . beautiful place.”  She said with another yawn, “But what made you think of it?”

     “You said smoking that plant was the only way you had of getting away from it all, and you weren’t getting anywhere with it.”

     “No, I guess I wasn’t.”  She said with a warm smile and eyes that seemed to glow with firelight. “Is that why you brought me here?  To get away from it all?”

     “Go to sleep, Bulma.”  He said with a slight roll of his eyes, “Your fatigue is clouding your judgement.”

     “But this . . . this is just so thoughtful . . . so unexpected.  I had no idea such a place on earth existed. My own planet.  No idea.”

     “That doesn’t seem unusual for those of this planet to be utterly unfamiliar with it.”

     “What about your home planet?”  she said, struggling to keep her eyes open, “Did you get to see very much of it before it was destroyed?”

     Vegeta did not answer.  He waited until her eyelids softly closed over her beautiful blue eyes, then spoke in a low, almost whispering voice.  “It’s important to understand . . . that Planet Vegeta was not our home planet.”  Vegeta said as he stared deep into the fire, “Planet Sadla was.  And it was destroyed by Frieza long before I was born.”  He said, speaking more to the flame than to her as he noticed her eyelids opening again, “My father claimed Planet Vegeta for the remaining survivors of the Saiyan race, but it was not unoccupied.  There lived a race of people known as the Tuffles, who enjoyed a peaceful, plentiful life full of wealth, and they were highly advanced in technology, much like your family compared to the general population here.”  He said, as Bulma’s eyes grew a little brighter.  “My father waged a ten year war against the Tuffles.  They were all but dead by the time I was born.  When I was a child I used to look in awe upon the structures they had left, knowing there was none among my race capable of such elegance, such function, such . . . even the palace we lived in, it was painfully obvious that at one time, some other family, some other beings, had lived and loved and ruled from its halls.”  
     “Oh.” Bulma said, “You lived in a palace?”

     Vegeta’s eyes narrowed.  He wrapped his arms around himself and reclined against the strawberry nearest to his back.  “Yes.  I lived in a palace.  With great libraries, full books that I felt very privileged to read, full of tales of Warriors, the great battle strategies of old, myths, legends . . . the low born were never afforded the luxury of learning how to read, but I . . . I was royalty.  My literacy was just as distinctive as the silhouette of my hair.”  He said as Bulma’s sleepy, sticky eyes took on a sad look, “I used to spend so many hours tracing the legend of the Super Saiyan.  My time was divided into exactly two past times—reading and training.  When I wasn’t training, I was reading, when I wasn’t reading, I was training, and likewise, when my father wasn’t ruling the planet with an iron fist, he was beaming with pride over the accomplishments of his son in both disciplines.  But . . . . Frieza . . . he had not dealt with Frieza in the merciless way that he should have.  He allowed Frieza a portion of his finest warriors, and Frieza never, never permitted their return, for it was the Saiyans that were sent to provide brute force and it was the Saiyans that were the first to be put down when their functions were over.  My father . . . let the culling of our people fester too long under the guide of . . . serving the powerful, respecting this power instead of challenging it.  When the day came . . . Frieza asked for me, the crown prince of all Saiyans, when I was all of 10 years old, My father did not refuse.  He put me on that ship.  I was told to serve.  It was not within my royal upbringing to disobey.  Then Frieza turned his treacherous fury onto the planet on which I was born, and then . . . then it was gone.”

     “Sad.  Vegeta that is so sad.”  Bulma said, her voice quavering slightly as she imagined a young Vegeta, frightened, confused and alone on Frieza’s ship.  “Then what happened?”

     “Then . . . I swore myself to him, because he was powerful and that was what was expected of me.  And when they told me that my father was dead, my thoughts caved in to fury . . . not at them, but at my father.  My father had been nothing but a weak fool.   He allowed Frieza to do the things he did.  Had he not, then I would be then I would be the one sitting on the throne today.  Me!”  Vegeta said as he brought his gloved fist down upon his palm, “But he failed.  He failed the one fundamental duty of every King of the line of Vegeta since the days of the legendary Super Saiyan—to protect our race, and to tolerate no other power above it!  He got what he deserved!”  Vegeta said, spitting out his words.  “Imagine if your father . . . gambled all your money, sold all your hard work . . . to some other company or . . . some undeserving man who only wishes to use your work to stroke his own ego.”

     “Horrible.” She said, as dream like images of the men from the north city militia flashed through her mind.   She curled her hand up near her mouth and then tucked it under her head, “Vegeta . . . What color was the sky there?”

     “Black.  Sometimes a dark blue.”

     “Clouds?”

     “Never.  It was dry.  And rocky.  This is why Kakarot and I are so drawn to the badlands.  That’s how I found this place—the morning after you and I first mated, I went out into the badlands to train and I was . . . already distracted.  For so long my thoughts had been consumed by nothing but my quest to become better than Kakarot, and that morning . . . My thoughts were jumbled . . . they had changed direction.”

     “Thoughts about what?”  She said as her eyelids stayed closed a little longer.

     “. . . Home.”  He said as she snored lightly, “What is a home to me now?  Is it a ship? Is it a gravity room?  Is it a woman?”  he said softly. 

     Bulma snorted herself awake.  She lifted one eye open and mumbled, “But what about here?  You said you were drawn to the badlands . . . so what made you . . . why did you wander away?”  she said, losing the power in her lips to form the W’s in her words. 

     “Something caught my eye.”  He said, reaching his hand out to her foot before curling it back again.

     “What . . . . was . . . it?”

     “Tomorrow.  I’ll show you tomorrow.”  He said, turning his attention to the ship’s cabin overhead as Bulma plummeted helplessly into sleep.   


	11. In the Eye of the Beholder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bulma has a bit of a rough night, but will a rough morning make up for it? ;)
> 
>  
> 
> . . . back to this story's smutty roots ;)
> 
> \------------------------------------------------

***

 

And sometime in the night, the fire died, and Bulma shivered herself awake, knees drawn in tight, arms crossed around herself as if she were still holding that strange swatch of pastel purple in her arms.  She had dreamed of a chamber in a circular ship, of a boy inside who was him but not him, a fresh, free spirit, new, lavender in color with eyes of blue.  She had only just wrapped her arms around him, she had only just opened the door to freedom before the men from the North City Militia rushed in with their weapons charged.  She threw up her hand.  She gave a loud gasp.  She gave a cry, and her eyes flitted open to the sight of glowing embers on the ground.  A cold tear trickled over the bridge of her nose as the dream and reality parted ways—he had left her, alone, outside in the cold, in the dark, surrounded by far away stars and predator dinosaurs, but then . . .

     Two gloved hands pushed themselves under her body, and lifted her up off the ground.

     “ _Bulma_ ,” he said as she pretended to sleep, holding her so close that she could feel the rhythm of her own name as it rolled off his lips.

     And with quiet surrender, Bulma allowed herself to feel the security of his arms, how welcoming, how strong.  The bed that he placed her on felt so soft and clean and comfortable after her time spent on the ground that pretend sleep became real sleep, became dark and dreamless and warm, extinguishing all pain, leaving only the love she felt as she closed her arms back around the fleeting feeling of the dream. 

    

***

 

     And when she woke up the next morning, she found herself in the middle of several blanket-covered mattresses arranged on the floor around her almost like a nest.  She had been undressed except for her undergarments while Vegeta lay naked and sleeping beside her at just more than an arm’s distance.   She looked at him and smiled.  She wanted to touch his widow’s peak at its very start, and stroke his hair the way she had that ill-fated day in the washroom, with the tub, when the Saiyan Prince was like a live wire, hot and full of hurt yet somehow still a plaything in her hands.  Instead she pushed herself up from the mattress and tip toed lightly across the others to go to the ship’s side rooms.

     She started a pot of coffee.

     She took a quick, refreshing shower. 

     She wrapped herself up in a towel, and startled slightly when she emerged from the bathroom to see that there was nothing left in the nest of mattresses except empty blankets.  “Vegeta?”  she called out, and her heart sank, remembering the intense feeling of abandonment from the night before.  Had he left the ship?  Was he out hunting another dinosaur for food or training in the strange environmental conditions of the crater?  It was then that she noticed that the main cabin of the ship was growing lighter and lighter.  The sun was rising, far below the lip of the crater, with bands of white and yellow expanding from the horizon beyond the peaks that protected the hidden cacao forest with its strawberry floor.  The leaves of the forest swayed as the warm morning wind circled around the rocky shape of the ancient meteor impact that had formed the crater so many millions of years ago, but even in the low light, where the leaves on the trees were a muted green and the strawberries seemed a gray kind of red, it was easy to see why he had asked for a ship “with a view”.  Bulma approached the wide, clear windows of the forward cabin, her slightly wounded heart quickly warming until it felt as though it were brightly burning, her eyes filled with a beautiful sight that she instantly understood that he had intended for her to see.  Directly across from the nose of the ship, tucked neatly between the fold of trees, was a waterfall that was a striking color of turquoise.  Its waters hit the rocks below in a billowing cloud of sea-green and fed all the rings of the crater with little tributaries that trickled down between the roots of cacao trees like the veils of a whole harem full of fairy brides.

     “And there I was, trying to rid myself of thoughts of you in any way that I could,” Vegeta said as he sat in the pilot’s chair like a king on his throne with only a white blanket draped from his elbow to his lap, “and from the farthest point of my sight, I see the very color of your hair in these cliffs.  So I followed it here, and the more that I explored, the more I . . . experienced . . . of its richness and purity, the more I thought of how often such a feature would convince some galactic ruler to purchase it, almost always in effort to woo a mate.  I failed to understand why—these planets were never close to the appropriate trade routes, never . . . particularly rich in minerals or ores, all they were was pleasing to the eye, but . . . “  Vegeta said as he lifted his eyes to her, “Something in me now wishes . . . that I too would not have so easily have assumed the void of my own royal birthright and taken one for myself.”

     Bulma parted her lips.  She tucked her thumb under the knot holding the towel in place over her breasts and gave it a firm push until the towel fell away, revealing her body to him in the quickening sunlight. 

     “Come to me.” He said as he gripped the armrests of the pilot’s chair, “Approach your Prince.” He said, keeping his intense black eyes fixed into hers despite the temptation of the subtle jiggle of her breasts or smooth sway of her hips that cradled blue falls of their own between her luxurious thighs.  “Now . . . tell me:  what would you do to please one so interested in taking your planet by force?”

     Bulma gave a softly wicked smile.  She smoothed her hairband back and looped it tight around her curly hair until she had formed a ponytail with it, then lowered herself to her knees.  She placed her hands on his thighs and smoothed them up until her fingers could catch the very edge of the white blanket, then she gave it a slow and steady pull until the ends of it fell out of the crook of his elbow, flowing over his velvety midsection and finally over his strong, upright cock. Her breasts grazed the inside of his knees as she pressed forward a little, her hands continuing their slide from his thighs to his hips.  By the time her palms slid up his belly, her breasts were pressing against his balls, her cherry lips were tantalizingly poised just above the head of his cock.   “Vegeta,” she said, the sound of her voice roiling the ki in him as she wrapped her hand around the shaft, “Spare us humans, please?”  She said, rubbing the head of his cock against her lower lip. 

    Vegeta dug his fingers into the armrests.  He breathed through the intensifying fury of his rising ki , lost in the depth of her lovely cerulean eyes as she batted her eyelashes slow and dreamy, then opened her mouth a little wider, and let his cock slide all the way down the length of her tongue.  And as much as he tried not to, Vegeta gave a little sound as his cock hit the back of her throat.  His eyes rolled, his breath caught in his throat as she sucked back up its length, supplementing it with the soft lapping of her tongue until her lips cradled the very head of it in the soft pile of their flesh.  She gave his cock a few strokes with her hand.  Vegeta opened his eyes and looked down, and as soon as his black touched her blue, she parted her lips again and let his cock slide inside, faster this time, and the little sound he gave before grew into an unabashed moan.  “Damn you woman.”  He growled as she pulled her head up and then allowed it to fall again, deeper, until her lips nudged her hands out of the way and his cock was secured in the wet depths of her throat.

     Bulma pushed herself down a little further.  She held her breath until she felt her lungs tingle and then slowly withdrew him from the back of her throat, until her tongue could just make out the deep grooves where head and shaft met each other, then plunged down again, forcing out such a deep and earnest cry out from Vegeta that it made her pussy flush with heat.  She dipped her head down and quickly up, feeling the subtle throb in his cock grow stronger, his growls and grunts growing in time with his breathing, and just as it felt like the hard pulse deep inside was gathering together, Bulma stopped, letting the head of his cock blossom out of her puckered lips.  She batted her great blue eyes to him once more, and with a subtle plea she said, “Spare us humans, please . . . my prince?”  pressing her lips lightly against his cock.

     Vegeta grabbed the puff of her hair and formed a fist, wrenching her head back before guiding her lips back to his cock.  He pushed her head down as he thrust his hips up, and Bulma made a little sound through her nose and throat that teased the evil in him to go deeper, to go so deep that she slapped her hand against his thigh and tapped the tops of her feet against the floor.  But when he let his hips sink back down to the seat, she made no attempt to get away or withdraw him from her, she instead went up and down again, her hands sliding up the sides of his thighs until they cradled his buttocks on either side.  Vegeta tightened his grip on her hair as she gathered a steady rhythm, knowing, that she was going in for the kill.  The suction of her tongue was relentless, her throat open and ready for the gush, but the evil in him had already been triggered, and just as her head was positively bobbing in blind ambition for his cum, Vegeta pulled her head back.  He pointed his finger in her face, and said in a very plain and authoritative voice, “No.”

     “Come on that’s not fair!!”  She said as she tapped her feet against the floor like a toddler throwing a temper tantrum, “I want it!!”

     “Get up.  Come into my lap.”

     “No!!!  I want this!”  she said as she stroked her hands over his thighs.  “Please?  Please Vegeta!!”

     “No, it’s not about what _you_ want!”  He said, again, thrusting his index finger in her face as her lips puckered, eyes watering slightly out of sincere disappointment.  “Stand up!”

     Bulma’s cheeks lit up red.  She stood up and leaned into him as if to embrace.

     “No.  Face that way.  I want you to look upon the rising sun.”

     Bulma turned around and awkwardly slid her ass down his body until she could feel the tip of his cock just graze against the split.  She attempted to position herself to allow him inside but Vegeta maneuvered himself away, allowing her to rest on top instead.  He brought his right arm between her breasts, placing his hand on her shoulder, and held her against his body as if she were captive, a prized princess of earth.  His left hand traveled over her round hip and, finding its way through the soft blue hair between her legs, plunged into the slightly fattened lips of her pussy, where it was wet and warm and eager to meet his touch.  “Look upon the rising sun,”  He said into her ear as three fingers combed hard against her pussy, forcing the flesh of her labia out in between, “Know in your heart that it could be yours, if I were to decide it.”  He said, lowering his head to suck on her nipple as his middle finger pressed a little deeper into her cunt, stroking the clit, gently at first, until Bulma’s moans enticed him to stroke harder.  Vegeta pressed the fingers holding her labia deeper into her pelvis.  He gave all three a deep stroke downward until his middle finger penetrated her.  “No one would stop me from taking it for you, no one!”  He said as he brought his fingers up again and rubbed the wetness against her upright clit.  She gave a cry and Vegeta renewed his embrace, pressing her upper body firmly against his.  He sank his teeth into her neck and quickened the strokes of his middle finger until he felt the muscles of her body all at once begin to tense.  He floated upwards, away from the chair, drawing his hips back subtly as she writhed so close to ecstasy.  He waited until the sounds she made, the wetness, the pulse, the rigidity of her muscles, seemed to indicate that orgasm was impending, then curled his hips in again and thrust his cock tight into her. 

      Bulma’s moan moved from her throat to deep, deep inside her chest as Vegeta’s cock filled her body like the bright yellow sunlight filling the cabin—with power and energy, an unhurried, overwhelming, natural force.  He rocked his hips back and forth and his cock reached higher and deeper, and though he still stroked her clit with his finger, the focus of her orgasm had shifted to the delicious, primal feeling . . . of being taken by a powerful male, to be flooded with him, to feel his urgent need to cum, to leave some bit of himself behind.  Bulma gritted her teeth.  She rubbed her palm against his thigh, then drew it back, slapping it back down again as she spat out, “Break me.”

     Vegeta smirked to himself as he pressed his forehead into her neck, “What?!”

     “I said BREAK ME YOU ASSHOLE!!” She said as she slapped her palm down again, filling the cabin with a cracking sound, “DO IT!!”

     “Oh my Bulma,” He said as he loosened the grip he kept on her upper body.  He wrapped both hands around her hips and pressed them down, thrusting upwards as he arched his back in the opposite direction.

     “BREAK ME!!”  She cried out again as the head of his cock pressed painfully against the bottom inside then suddenly drew back, thrusting up again as she smacked his thigh as hard as she could.  Soon he was fucking her wildly, floating higher and higher in the chamber.  He grabbed her by the elbows and scrunched his hips quickly against the arch of her ass as she pulled her upper body away, her legs pressing downwards, the weight of her pulling him in deeper until it felt as though they might destroy each other.  Vegeta held his breath, as did she, and despite the gritted teeth and slapped thighs and the pulled elbows and the firm, fulfilling press of his cock into the fist-tight muscle of her pussy, both lit up in a bright, delicious, uncontrollable sensation that snapped them into a sudden, powerful cum that seemed to happen simultaneously between them, he into her, she around him, both with loud cries that could have just as easily mistaken for their murder.  

     Vegeta wrapped his arms around Bulma, holding her as the two of them sank back towards the floor, to the nest of mattresses and blankets behind the pilot’s chair.  He kissed the neck he had bitten, he rubbed the hips where he had no doubt left little finger sized bruises in an arch.  He remained joined with her as his back touched down against the beds, cradling her as she breathed through the aftershocks, relishing the feeling of the blood in her veins being slowed by the release of her own endorphins, so much weaker than his, yet still present in this strange, weak little species known as human.  He hummed as he kissed the base of her skull, taking her earlobe gently in his teeth as she reached her hand up into his hair, his hands busy with massaging her breasts.  “My Bulma,” He said just before turning her head to kiss her mouth, “Did I break you?”

      Bulma gave a broad smile, “Still alive.”

     “That’s unfortunate.”  He said, taking another kiss.   

    “I don’t know why you do this to me.”  She languidly purred as he moved out from beneath her and kissed his way up her arm, “I’ve never been this mean in bed with anyone else.”       

     “A woman should come with challenge.”  He said as he continued his kisses all the way up to the tips of her fingers, “No challenge in the woman then what is the point?”      

     “You are surprisingly lovey-dovey after sex, you know this?”

     “Oh Let me enjoy myself.”  He said with a pinch of annoyance in his voice.

     “No I mean, it’s like you’re a completely different person.  It’s like you’re high or something.”

     “What other excuse aside from mating would a warrior have to relish pleasure?”

     “Well you can enjoy pleasurable stuff any time you want.” Bulma said lovingly, “it’s not something that has to be restricted to sometimes”

     “No.  that’s not how it is for a Saiyan.  I battle.  I wage war.”  He said as he put his arm around her.  “I fight . . . so that pleasure may live in its purity, far away from harshness and struggle.  If I enjoy you here and now there is no shame.  It is the way it’s supposed to be.  Rest assured that no thought of you enters my mind as I take to the battlefield, but when I am done . . . . “  he said, pausing.  “Ba’hwe”

     “What?”

     But Vegeta did not answer.  He instead touched his forehead down to her shoulder, smushing into it, tilting it back and forth at the point of his widow’s peak, eyes closed, a gravely seriously look on his face.  “You wish to know a word from my native tongue, and I choose Ba’hwe.”

    “Barwee?”

     “No no, that’s not what the female would say.”  Vegeta said as his hand gently encircled her bicep, his face oddly ashen and serious, as if the words he was about to say carried a gravely heavy weight.  “In my tongue the woman would say, Ba’hwung.  Say it.”

     “What? Well what does it mean?”

     “Just say it.  I want to hear you say it.”    

      “I’m not going to say it if I don’t know what it means.”

      “Ba’hwe.”

      “B’we?”

     “No,” and he shook his head and swallowed the lump in his throat, “Ba’hwung”

     And in the face of the Saiyan prince, Bulma could almost see a small Saiyan boy, cowering, strangely afraid of the word she was about to speak.  “Ba’hwung” she uttered, and all the fear, all the anxiousness, all the tension he held in his ears and cheeks and brows melted away, as if he had just experienced the passing of a test. 

    “Ba’hwe.”  He said, placing his hand on her sternum.

    “Ba’hwung.”  She said, placing her hand in the very center of his chest.

 

   . . .  And no more was said between them until after coffee.    

    

 

 


	12. The Airship returns to Capsule Corp

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vegeta and Bulma wrap up their getaway at the crater and return to Capsule Corp, but Dr. Briefs & Pansy Briefs aren't the onl ones waiting for them to return!
> 
> \-----------------------------------------------------

 

     Vegeta and Bulma spent one more day in the crater together.

     One more day exploring, taking long walks through the jungle, swimming through the turquois pool at the end of the waterfall, even finding a dragon ball nestled in the roots of a cacao tree high in the rocky rings of the crater.

     But as the day wore on, Bulma noticed that whenever she made some simple show of affection, Vegeta was quick to avoid it.   Each time she placed her hand on his shoulder, Vegeta would move it out from under her.  Each time she turned to him with puckered lips to deliver a casual kiss, her prince would scowl and move away suddenly, as if she were waving something of the highest offense in his face.  If she reached for his hand, he would jerk it away, then fold his arms around himself with his hands tucked neatly under his armpits.

    And although they still slept skin to skin together in the night, he insisted on sleeping with his stomach to her back, his arm draped over her body as if guarding an object or a thing, like a child protecting a toy or a dog protecting a bone. He growled as she turned to rub his chest, and righted her body in the direction that _he_ wanted it to face.  No sex.  Sex was apparently done.   

     On the morning of their final day, Vegeta awoke early and went out on his own.  When he returned, he loaded four pillowcases full of cacao pods and a few of the giant strawberries into the back of the ship.  “Your mother is always preparing these fruits in her desserts.  Perhaps it won’t be so alarming to them that we have spent so much time together if we offer them for her use.”

     “Don’t need to offer them a bounty.”  Bulma scoffed as she readied the airship for liftoff, “We’re adults, it’s none of their business what we do.”

     With the warmup routine complete, Bulma retracted the legs of the airship and gained liftoff.  She gazed fondly over the strawberry grove, the cacao trees, the wandering dinosaurs, the exotic birds, the monkeys, the turquois colored waterfall, and relaxed back into her seat as Vegeta gave the all-clear sign from outside.  He rejoined her in the cabin when the airship had safely crossed over the rocky lip of the crater, taking the chair beside her, arms tightly crossed, his chin tucked up high.  As the nose of the vessel crossed over the badlands the messages to Bulma’s phone began to roll in.  “ugh, Kami . . .” she muttered to herself as different sounds for different types of messages glitched and bumped into each other in exuberant effort to catch her attention first.  “On second thought, maybe that strawberry bribe of yours wasn’t such a bad idea.”

     Vegeta twisted his chair so that his back was turned to her.  “And how many of those messages are from Yamcha?”

     “Ugh, don’t ask.”  She said as she began to notice how the smell of the strawberries seemed to permeate the cabin of the ship.  “25.”

     Vegeta smirked to himself.  “What does he want?”

     “Just . . . ugh he’s worried . . . I guess.”  She said as she read over a message from Yamcha asking for a motorbike capsule to run errands for Master Roshi.  “Say Vegeta did—did any of those strawberries have a rotten spot in them?  Like, a spot that was maybe really soft?”

     “No.  I chose fruit of the highest overall integrity for the long trip back.  Why?”

     “I dunno it’s just . . . that smell.  They smell really really good but it’s . . . it’s almost overwhelming.  And those cacao pods—they didn’t spend any time on the ground, did they?”

     “Of course not!  They were taken directly from the trees.”

     “Oh.  Yeah right.”  She said as she swallowed the lump in her throat.  “it’s just . . . something smells like dirt to me.  Like this whole ship smells like Strawberries and dirt.  It’s really . . . wow.”

     Vegeta twisted his chair towards her again.  He scowled, noticing how pale she seemed.  “Are you ill?”

     “Maybe.”  She said as the messages continued to post to her phone in obnoxious beeps and dings.  “I think I maybe need to lie down.  The ship’s on autopilot.”  She said as she unbuckled herself from the pilot’s chair.  She tilted her head towards the mattresses on the floor and said, “You wanna join me?”

     “Tch, you can’t be serious.  Are you never satiated?” 

     Bulma folded her arms over her breasts.  She turned her head and stuck her chin high into the air.  When she reached the nest of mattresses she plopped herself down in the center, giving her already sensitive stomach a jolt.  “Well fine, I guess I’ll be sick and pretty all by my lonesome.”  She said as she laid back, grabbing one of the blankets at her side as though she were grabbing someone by the collar before wrapping herself up in it.  At least on the floor she was closer to the original, sterile smell of the ship.  At least the air was cooler there, and not so crowded by the sickly-sweet smell of red, ripe fruits and dirty, useless cacao pods that she had no idea what to do with.  But as she laid there sulking Vegeta unbuckled himself from his chair too.  Her heart leaped up as he approached, then sank back down as he began to pick up the mattresses from the floor and replace them in their original bunks, leaving only two on the floor—the one she was laying on, and the one right beside her, on which he sat down, cross legged and pouting, his elbow on his knee, his hand tucked under his chin.  He gave her hip a rub with his other hand as she curled around her abdomen, giving a little sound of discomfort as her stomach continued to gurgle.  “You ARE ill.  Something is different about your ki.”  He said as she began to break out in a cold sweat. 

     “Well yeah my ki isn’t going to be all that great if I’m sick.”  She snapped, “Ugh I have so much stuff to back to at home, I don’t have time to be sick!”

         Vegeta removed his hand from her hip and tucked it under his chin as well while he silently wondered how long the trip back to Capsule corp was going to take.  His thoughts went to the gravity room, of how much time had been lost entertaining the sweaty, pouty, whining mess on the floor who, at even such a deplorable state, had made the indication that she was still not yet satisfied, after all the mating they’d done and after all the things they’d said to one an—he closed his eyes and brought his attention to her ki, listening with his inner sense for the thing that made her distinctly her, trying hard to determine what foreign body, what virus, what allergy was causing her such discomfort, but despite his best efforts, it seemed as though he could not find an energy that was distinctly her, more like an energy that was a reflection of him, an echo, feedback.  He shook his head as he began to notice that the strawberries did indeed emit an overwhelming smell, but they were already pushing over into the line of deciduous forest that signaled the end of the badlands, and Capsule corp would not be far away.

      

     Dr. Briefs, Pansy Briefs, Yamcha, Puar and Roshi all ran out to the courtyard as the great Capsule corp airship approached.  They gave a collective gasp as the metal stairs unfolded from the side of the ship and saw the black spikey hair and scowling face of the Saiyan Prince Vegeta emerge from the hull.  “Wha-wh-Vegeta what have you d—where’s Bulma?!” Yamcha spat out from behind his gritted teeth.

     “She is not well.  She will descend momentarily.”

     “What have you done to her?!”  Yamcha barked, placing himself in front of Vegeta as he attempted to walk by, “Answer me!!  If you’ve harmed her in any way Vegeta you will pay the price!!!”

     “Tch . . . harmed.”  Vegeta scoffed as he made a half-hearted swatting motion towards the desert bandit, “Move along Yamcha.  If you’re really that concerned she’s in the restroom facility of the ship.  She will rejoin your party as soon as the needs of the body have been met.”

      “Well if she’s sick then how could you just leave her up there?!”  Yamcha said as he started towards the ship, “How sick?!  Is she dying???  She’d have to be pretty sick to agree to go anywhere with the likes of you!  Did you kidnap her??? Has she been held against her will????” 

      “Let her explain it. My Business with you in that regard is finished.”  Vegeta said, his eyes sliding to the far corners as he kept his back turned to Yamcha.

     “No!  No I don’t think it is!  You’re not walking away from this, Vegeta” Yamcha said, balling his fists.  “You forced her into stealing this ship from Dr. Briefs, didn’t you?”

     Vegeta let out a loud, impatient sigh.  He folded his arms together and rolled his eyes as he lightly bit his tongue within his mouth.   

     “If I go up those steps and find that you’ve hurt her, I swear this will be the last time anyone sees you alive on this earth!”

     “Yamcha leave him alone.” Bulma whined as she gripped the handrail to the retractable steps to the ship, “We just got back from a long trip and I got airsick, that’s all.  There wasn’t anything sinister involved, ok?”

     “Bulma you’ve been gone for 2 days!!!  We’ve been worried sick about you!!”

     “Well I wasn’t worried dear.  Were you worried honey?”  Pansy said, turning to Dr. Briefs as he shook his head. 

     “Ok well I’ve been worried!  I was two steps away from going out and searching for you myself.” Yamcha said as Bulma’s feet touched the ground.  “If I would have known you were stuck somewhere with Vegeta—“

     “More like got stuck by Vegeta tee hee” Pansy said in an obnoxiously loud whisper that brought a blush to her husband’s and Vegeta’s faces.

     “Look Yamcha, I’m tired.  AND I’m ok so if you really need me to explain it to you, I can explain it after I’ve rested up a little.  I’m sorry you were worried but I can take care of myself.” She said as she walked by.

     “Wha—you mean to tell me you went with him WILLINGLY?!”

     Vegeta tilted his ear back towards the human’s conversation.

     “Yamcha . . . ugh, yes.  Yes I did.  In fact, Mom we uhh . . . we brought a little something home for you if you want to go up and take a look.”

     “WE?!” Yamcha exclaimed so hard that his voice cracked, “What’s this WE crap?!”

     “Excuse me.”  Pansy said as she pushed past Yamcha and tip tapped up the metal stairs in her high heels, squealing with delight as she laid eyes on the giant strawberries and cacao pods.  “Oh my goodness!  Oh My goodness Mr. Vegeta these are lovely!!  Did you pick these? There so huge it had to have been you!”

     “We as in Me and Vegeta.  I was feeling really overwhelmed with work and agreed to go with Vegeta in the airship.  Just took us a while to get there and a while to get back, that’s all.”

     Vegeta slid his already clasped arms together until his hands grasped his elbows.

     “Did he touch you?!  Did he hurt you?!”

     “Yamcha I’m still sick to my stomach and I don’t want to talk about this now so will you please shut up?”

     “He . . . he drugged you!”

     “He didn’t fucking drug me you asshole I just got airsick now stop stressing me out before you make me puke again!!”

     “Wha—I’m the one who’s concerned about you and suddenly I’m the asshole???”  Yamcha said as Bulma put her hand to the side of her face to block him out.  “Did you drink anything before you got onboard? Did anything taste funny?  Did you at any time get dizzy and black out?? How much do you remember??”

     “Leave her alone, human.” Vegeta warned.

     “Do you remember the room spinning?? Flashing lights? Bright colors?!”

     “Yamcha stop I’m serious you’re going to make me puke.”

     “You don’t know what he’s capable of!”

     Bulma suddenly pitched forward at the waist and retched, and although she aimed for the bushes next to Yamcha, a pea-sized amount slid over the leaves and landed with a sickening plop on the top of his shoe.  “EWWWWWWWWWWWW EW EW EW EW EW EW EWWWWW!!!!”  Yamcha screeched as he ran around the courtyard flailing his arms, leaving a pale and embarrassed Bulma walking blindly through the doors of Capsule corp with her palm covering her face.

 

 

 

 

But once she had small bite of something salty to eat . . .

And a cup of tea

And once she was sitting behind her computer at work, her mind cleared, and her body was no longer as pressingly uncomfortable as it had been in the morning.  Focused and “in the zone” again, she dealt with the things on her to-do list with deft precision and ease.  She finalized all the last remaining details of the Capsule Corp party, she caught up on all the paperwork pertaining to the North City Militia’s gun, conveniently leaving out the fact that it was too slow to land a hit on a Saiyan, and even approved the funding, budget and testing forecasts for the next 3 projects lined up for the Capsule corp lab.  She ordered a beautiful new dress for herself from the local shop, and smiled to herself at the thought of picking it up in the morning.

     And when the day was through and she rolled back the door to her room, she opened her arms wide and fell into her bed as if she were greeting an old friend.   She kicked off her shoes and had just nuzzled her face against her pillow when a knock came to her door.  “Ugh, who is it?”  She whined as she rolled over on her back.

     “I would hope no one else would come to your door at this time of night.”  Vegeta said quietly into the small space between the frame and the door.  “Let me in.”

     Bulma blew the air out of her lips before pressing the controls to the door.  She took a deep breath and laid one of her arms over her eyes, letting the other drape over the bed.  “I hope you’re not here to talk because I’m exhausted.”  She said as Vegeta pushed off his shorts and climbed in bed next to her.

     “No.  Sleep.”  He said as he turned her onto her side, guarding her with his arm, pressing his naked body against her while she remained fully clothed.

     “Oooooo-k don’t you have a bed?”  She said as the warmth and security of his embrace began to set in, “You know what, never mind.  I’ll just sleep like this, I don’t care.”

     Vegeta subtly tightened his embrace.  He touched the tip of his widow’s peak to the back of her neck and gave her a nudge.  She curled her hands around his forearm and enjoyed the warm, silent, familiar feeling, denying the still present smell of strawberry in his hair, and acknowledging the strange, creeping heartbreak she felt over her inability to tell Yamcha the truth. 


	13. Preparing for the Party!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's almost time for the Capsule Corp company party! Time for Bulma to pick up her dress, but who will be the one to engage in the dance?
> 
> \--------------------------------------

_Rest assured_

_that no thought of you enters my mind as I take to the battlefield,_

_but when I am done . . . ._

 

 

 

 

     Vegeta stood motionless in the hum of the gravity room.  He gritted his teeth and flexed his fingers, feeling the pull to the floor deep in his bones as the laser drones buzzed up to their positions.  “You really have no idea what you’re up against today.”  He said to them as they began to bobble around in the red light of the room, “I’ve already faced a fearsome opponent this morning, and she attacks me with a merciless that your programming fails to grasp.  I am already triggered.”  He said as he balled his fists, “Today is the day that you should feel grateful that your circuits were never blessed with the ability to feel, because all they’d feel today is PAIN!!”

     Vegeta sprang from the bottom of the gravity room and brought his fists together, smashing the nearest drone into pieces instead of deactivating it.  Bits of metal rained down to the floor as he took another swipe, striking out at a pair of drones that zipped their separate ways and managed to dodge an untimely fate at the hands of the enraged Saiyan.  Vegeta fell forward towards the wall.  He rolled his back and planted both feet on the side of the gravity room and pushed, hurtling himself through another hapless drone who just happened to catch the blazing edge of his fingers as his ki ran electric along them, but this would not be enough to defeat the BIG drone, which was steadily raising to full power as it swiftly and silently rushed to his side.  Vegeta chopped his flat palm down to the right.  The big drone rocked and discharged its laser, grazing his knee in the same spot where she had touched him that morning just before he jerked his leg away.  _Why do you act like I’m some sort of pariah every time I try to touch you???_

     “I don’t have time for this . . . “  Vegeta said aloud to himself, repeating his words to her from their conversation that morning.  “No thought of you enters my mind!!”  He reaffirmed as he grabbed a small drone and threw it as hard as he could towards the back of the big drone as it searched with its laser eye for the inhumanly fast Saiyan. 

     _Well what about the dance tonight?  Vegeta this is something important to me!_   She said as she came up on her knees in the bed _Maybe socialization isn’t that important to Saiyans but it is to humans_.

     “Tch!”  Vegeta said, still reliving the memory as he brought his elbow back to smash against the robot gaining air behind him. 

     _I want you to be there.  With me.  I want to let them know._

     Vegeta touched the top of the drone then rushed towards the gravity room floor, turning corkscrew, zeroing in on the big drone as it turned its laser eye direct.

     _You didn’t do a good job of letting them know when Yamcha confronted you yesterday._

     _What?!  Now wait a minute, that is totally unfair!!!_

     The aperture on the big drone’s laser opened wide, sparking blue and red and yellow inside.

     _I was sick!!  I didn’t feel like fighting with him, just like I don’t feel like fighting with you now!!  If you don’t want to go to the dance then that’s fine!  That’s great!  Just sit in your stupid gravity machine all day long while I enjoy the party that I put together all by myself!  Just imagine, me, head scientist of Capsule Corp, with all my degrees, all my money, all my beauty, and it’s still not enough for me to have even one year ONE YEAR where I have a legit date!!_

      _We are already mates!  What difference would a dance make?_

_MATES?!  SO YOU’D BE OK WITH YOUR BEAUTIFUL ‘MATE’ ATTENDING A FUNCTION WHERE SHE IS GOING TO BE SURROUNDED BY ELIGIBLE BACHELORS WHILE SHE’S WEARING A BEAUTIFUL, POSSIBLY QUITE REVEALING DRESS MADE BY THE BEST DESIGNERS IN THE CITY??_

_Ba’Whe!_

     The big drone fired.  Vegeta countered with a blast of his own, one that was five times the power of what he’d used in the badlands, one that edged out the red in the room and turned everything white again.

     “Ba’whe!!”  He said through his teeth, remembering the warmth of her skin as his hand thumped down to her chest in his memory.

     _What does that even mean?!  You never told me!!  Feels more and more like what you’re telling me is to go to hell!!!_

     As Vegeta recalled the feeling of her slapping his hand away from her chest, he pushed the energy blast harder against the big drone, the stream between them giving off a satisfying crackle.

     _How did kakarot and his woman prove their bond to one another?_

     _By marriage!_   She said, allowing her disgust for his lack of knowledge to soak through her voice.  _Oh no.  no no.  no no no that is NOT what we’ve done!  Ha no you are sorely mistaken._

     _We’ve mated . . . THROUGH A CYCLE OF LUST!_

_We ‘mated’ before you even said all that to me!_

     Vegeta felt his face starting to burn. 

     _But a dance would prove it?_

     He felt the laser from the big drone tick up in power level.

     _Just . . . . no you’re missing the point!_

     “NO!  NO THOUGHT OF YOU ENTERS MY MIND.”  Vegeta growled as he pushed his ki to the max against the laser as it began to gain ground.

     _Your only intent is to present me as if I were your new pet in some silly, useless, corporate gathering!!  Well here’s the thing about pets, Bulma—their novelty wears off!  They get old!  They get forgotten!  And then what becomes of them??  If you wouldn’t refer to me as a mate at the same level as that woman to Kakarot . . . and you won’t speak up when that idiot asks you point blank where you’ve been and why you were alone with me, then what that tells me . . ._

     “—What that tells me is that you have no intention to DO SO BULMA! _URRG!_ ”  Vegeta cried out as the laser hit his shoulder full on.  He fell to the floor, slowly writing and panting through the pain as he clutched the wound.  “Distractions.  It’s all a distraction.   I’ve got to get my sense of discipline back!”  He said, grinding his head into the floor as the pain renewed.  “Why?  Why her?  Why this . . . entanglement . . . Why now???”

    

                                                                                                                             ***

 

 

     “And where are you going, missy? There’s a big thunderstorm going on outside or haven’t you noticed?”  said Mrs. Briefs as she rinsed off a saucer.

     “Oh . . . well . . . kind of had a storm of my own to deal with this morning.”  Bulma said as she tightened her arms around her stomach.

     “Your stomach still bothering you sweetie?  Why won’t cha let your mom fix you a cup of chamomile before you go?”

     “Oh it’s ok Mom.  Thanks though.”  She said as she leaned her hip against the kitchen counter.  “Hey . . . how was Yamcha while I was gone?”

     “Hmmm?  What do you mean Dearie?” 

     “Was he angry?  Was he upset?  Did he act like he was distraught or anything?”

     “Umm, no, not that I noticed.  You know, actually, Yamcha was a pretty big help around the house while you were gone!  He helped me fetch the laundry and he helped me do the dishes . . . it was really not like him at all.”

     “That’s what I was afraid of,” Bulma retorted.

     “Hmm?”

     “Maybe he was just kissing ass, you know, getting in on your good side so you’d spill the beans about where I was and what I was doing.”

     “Well I didn’t tell him you were doing Mr. Vegeta that’s for sure, tee hee!” said Mrs. Briefs as she dashed her fingers to her chin to compliment her coy smile. 

     “Thanks.”

     “Oh but when are you going to tell him?  You gonna wait till he busts in on the two of you doin the nasty in the washroom?”  she said as her daughter gave a groan of embarrassment, “Thank Kami we have servants because the two of you made a helluva disgusting mess in there.”

     “Mom cut it out!  I’ll tell him!  Between you and Vegeta I swear . . . “

     “Oh so Mr. Vegeta asked you to break it to him too?  Must be getting pretty serious about you if he doesn’t want you seeing your ex boyfriend.”

     “Um, well, I don’t know about that.” Bulma said as she looked out the window at the rain, “Seems like, ever since he got what he wanted, he wants nothing more to do with me.  He won’t let me kiss him, or touch him.  I can’t just . . . casually walk up to Vegeta and give him a peck on the cheek, even when we’re alone together.  But he still wants me to sleep with him, in the way he wants to sleep—no cuddling, no fooling around.  It’s like affection happens on his terms and his terms only, and I don’t like that.”

     “Some men don’t like to be touched.”

     “Yeah but, I don’t want that to be my man.”  She said as she watched a lone raindrop make its way down the window, “I want to give him all my love and attention.  I want to . . . stroll someplace arm in arm, lean my head on his shoulder . . .”

     Pansy scoffed, “Well couldn’t do that with Mr. Vegeta anyways, even if he wasn’t such an asshole . . . little on the short side don’t cha know.”

     “No it’s not that I couldn’t lean on him because he’s too short, mother . . .  I couldn’t do that with him because he’s too cold and that’s the point.”  Bulma said, letting lose a deep sigh as she touched her fingertips to the glass where the raindrop had fallen far enough down the window to knock another raindrop into its own journey down to the windowsill. 

     “Hmm well your father wasn’t exactly a raging volcano of passion when he and I first got together.  He’s a scientist you know. They’re odd birds.  Always spending too much time in their heads, stewing on all the details until they’ve cooked them to death.”  She said with one eyebrow cocked to her daughter’s turned back, “I think people were positively shocked when your sister came along . . . I mean, here’s Dr. Briefs, respected inventor, so quiet, so backwards . . . I think they always expected our marriage to be one of convenience but . . . wooo! if they only knew what kind of man he was in the bedroom!”  She said with a giggle.  “Listen dearie, what if I told you that you don’t have to sort all this out right now.  Whatever is meant to be will be and what is meant to be will eventually be clear as day!  Don’t you worry about it for now.  You got a dance to go to tonight, don’t cha?”

     “Yeah.  Was just headed out to get my dress.”

     “Well that storm is passing so why don’t you take an umbrella and walk to town, it will clear out your head.  And don’t worry about what Prince Grouch Ass or the Desert Bozo wants, you worry about what you want and let things unfold at their own pace.”

    

 

     And so Bulma set forth from Capsule corp with her purse hooked around her elbow and an umbrella resting on her shoulder, cares melting away with her first deep breath of warm air that was heavy with the scent of petrichor, the fresh, sweet smell of earth, home sweet home.  She tiptoed around the pink and wiggly earthworms making their way across the sidewalk, rolling her eyes and tilting her umbrella in the direction of the gravity room, hearing Vegeta thump-thumping his way through another training exercise inside.  _Ugh, wish he would train his way back to his own damn planet._

It had been some time since she had walked to town--springtime flowers were blooming, the houses along the street were being primed and prepped, lawns manicured, and as she paused to observe all these small minutiae of day to day civilized human life, she began to feel somewhat like an alien herself.  She watched as a man lifted a small tree by the trunk and lowered it into a hole his wife had prepared in a garden close to small playset in their backyard.  These people had no servants to mow the lawn or clean up their washrooms—did they buy the tree together?  Did they buy it for their child?  Would it bear fruit or nuts?  Would it someday hold a swing?  Bulma quickly tilted her umbrella, shielding her blush face from their eyes as they noticed her staring in their direction.  She moved quickly forward and resumed her course towards town. 

     “After you, my lady.”  Bulma heard a man say, and she tilted her umbrella up, she saw a middle-aged man opening the passenger side door to his vehicle for a lovely woman with a large ring on her left finger, her chubby face graced with fine lines that could have only have been created over years of happiness and laughter.  He kissed her hand as she presented it and hooked his elbow into hers as they entered a cozy restaurant together.  Was this restaurant a place they both agreed on?  Did he pick it out?  Did she?  Had they been coming for years, renewing their love with the nostalgia of a first date?  What would be their nostalgia, the scent of flea shampoo?

     Bulma felt her heart beginning to sink.  She walked a little faster towards the dress shop, passing a theater with posters to a romantic movie in the marquee, the cozy coffee shop where she had spent the morning spilling her guts to Tights about the savage Saiyan fuckboy, a jeweler, a toy store, where a large group of children came screaming out, chasing each other with their simple, plastic treasures.  The last one out of the door tripped over the low stoop.  Bulma kneeled low as he lay flat faced on the ground, his scraped up chin puckering as his eyes welled up with tear.  “Oh dear, are you ok?”  she said as she picked up his broken toy and quickly snapped it back together, sealing the cracked plastic back up with a tool she kept in her pocket.  “There, there, it’s alright.  You’ll be ok!” 

     “Thanks lady.”  He said as he wiped his nose and eyes with the back of his sleeve before running off to be with the other kids.

     “Scamp.” Bulma said to herself with a smile, remembering when Gohan was that age, how shy, how cute . . . what danger Goku placed him in!

     “Miss Bulma I think you will find this dress measured to an exact fit!  Would you like to try it on while you’re here?  You know, just to get a little preview?” chirped the dress store clerk soon after Bulma stepped inside.  “Dressing rooms are right this way!”

     But even though the dress looked exactly on her as it did on the model, something about the dress left her cold.  Bulma smoothed her hands over the crème colored crepe and tugged at the pink sash around her waist.  She readjusted the straps up top and neated the little pink ribbon between her breasts.  How many times did she have to explain to Yamcha what the color crème was?  How flabbergasted, she thought with a smile, was Vegeta when she forced him to wear the pink Badman shirt.

     Bulma stepped out of the dressing room with the dress flopped over her arm.  It was already the day of the big party, far too late to be second guessing anything, and the dress was pretty, just not thrilling and so she made up her mind to settle.  She laid the dress over the counter and looked around, catching the eyes of the store clerk, who gave Bulma the signal to wait as she attended to a walk-in customer.  So Bulma stood, waiting, her heart sinking further still, until she looked around the room and saw in a small, lighted recess, a sparkling dress that made her heart leap.  “Wait,” She said as she walked away from the counter, “Wait just a second!  Oh this is . . . I want THIS one!!!”

     Bulma burst through the dress shop doors with a wide smile on her face.  She clumsily juggled dress, purse, umbrella and phone as she quickly dialed the hair salon.  “Ok so I know this is a fat chance, but would you happen to have an opening today?  I want to return my hair to its natural color.”

     With her grip reaffirmed on her dress, Bulma trotted down the street with renewed pep.  She smiled at passerbys and twirled along with the kids as they rushed by.  She gave directions to a stranger and filled the cup of a street beggar asking for change, and when she was very nearly at the hair salon, she noticed a tall, dark, handsome, familiar man making his way down the street towards her with a large paper bag in his hand and a big smile on his face.   “Yamcha!”  Bulma cheerfully exclaimed,  “  What are you doing here?”

     “I came to exchange my outfit for the dance tonight.  Kinda thought maybe the yellow was a bit too . . . you know, yellow.”  He said as he unfurled his umbrella, “Nice weather we’re having, huh?”

     “Nice enough to walk in, I guess.”

     Yamcha gave a shy smile.  He hung his head and brushed the toe of his foot across the ground.  “Say umm, Bulma, you know, I have to apologize for the way I behaved yesterday.  I didn’t mean to make you upset, I was just . . . I guess when I saw Vegeta get off that ship, I assumed the worst.  I came to realize after the fact that I didn’t show a whole lot of faith in your ability to take care of yourself when I did that, which is a shame because you’re a strong woman.  Easily one of the strongest I know.”

     “Oh.  You don’t have to apologize Yamcha, really it’s ok.”

     “Yeah but . . . It didn’t occur to me until after the fact that if our situations were reversed, that I’d probably feel pretty offended if  . . . you know . . . you accused me of not being strong enough to stand up to him if he were doing something funny.”

     “Right.”

     “And I mean, he is a prick and all but . . . he’s been fighting on our side for a while and . . . I guess I just let old wounds get the best of me.”

     “It’s understandable, really.”  Bulma said, noticing how Yamcha’s face seemed to grow a little more red. 

     “Well, I mean, you going to the dance with me tonight . . . . well it’s a real honor, you know?  And even though we’re not dating I’m grateful that you would at least, you know, I guess, pretend to be my date, right?”

     “Yeah.   That’s what friends are for, right?”

     Yamcha perked his head up and looked wistfully towards the brightening sky.  “Yeah.  I mean, I was just having a really hard time with the thought of facing one more dance alone, but Bulma Briefs to the rescue!  Ha Ha!”  He said as he pumped his fist into the air.  “Well listen, I better let you go.  I have an appointment at the barber shop, don’t want to be late!  Hug?” 

     “Hug.”  Bulma said as she leaned into him, their umbrellas forming a kind of private tent around them as she gave a one-armed embrace, heart to heart in the mix of sunshine and drizzling rain, a soothing cuddle between friends, old, familiar, wonderful.

     Yamcha turned his face and gave her a small peck on the cheek.  “For a friend.”

    “Ha, ok.”  She said as she touched the spot where Yamcha left a kiss, but Yamcha was still looking at her with his deep, dark eyes, and they were still enclosed in their safe umbrella tent, surrounded by the scent of flowers and rain and the bustling sound of human society.  Yamcha dipped his face down.  He touched his lips to hers and parted them meekly with his soft, timid tongue, stroking against hers gently.  He finished their kiss with a coaxing suck, leaving her red lips parted as he raised and returned to his regular height.  “Tonight.”

     “Yeah.”  She said as little blue sparkles from the dress began to fill their umbrella tent from the sunshine refracting off the puddles on the ground. “Ok.”

     “Promise I won’t do anything embarrassing.  I’ll be there on time, dressed to the nines, ready to party! See you around 8?” He said as he waved his goodbye and walked down the street.

     “Yeah.  8.”  Bulma repeated to herself as the sun retreated behind the meandering black clouds, killing the brilliant blue shine of her brand new dress. 

    


	14. Party at Capsule Corp!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s time for the big party at Capsule Corp! Will Vegeta make an appearance, or will Bulmcha stand victorious?  
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> So at the risk of being more than just a little dorky, I wanted to share with you a song that really kind of inspired this scene (if not the whole fanfiction!). I can’t copy and paste the link here because of the AO3 spam filters, but go to YouTube and do a search for “Calvin Harris Ft Rihanna – This Is What You Came For (80s remix)” but don’t press play until you come to this symbol in the text  ~///@///~ Haha see? This is kind of like kicking it old skool when read-a-long books had cassettes that read the story and played music and told ya when to turn the page, remember those?! :D I actually have a whole youtube playlist dedicated JUST to this story but I dunno that would add to the experience or detract from it :/ Anyways like always, let me know what you think! :) 
> 
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     Bulma sat at her Vanity and stared into her own deep blue eyes.  7:55pm. 

     Her hair was piled into a loose, elegant bun.  Aqua blue curls hung around her face, pretty, bouncy, perfect.  Her nails were polished and tipped with crystal jewels.  The dress was a perfect fit.  7:59pm.

     She studied the line of silver sequins that cut from her right shoulder to just above her left breast.  They were large and mirror-like, almost the size of quarter-zennis, the same size as the deep blue sequins on the rest of the dress below.  They made a click-clacking sound as she ran her hand over her stomach, sick again.  8:02pm.

     “I’m not sick.”  She said to herself as she swallowed the spit in her mouth.  “I’m not sick.  I am NOT sick.  I have a party to go to tonight.  Yamcha will be here any minute to—“

     Bulma rushed up from bench.  She ran to the toilet and hovered over it as her stomach lurched.  She pressed her lips together and braced herself, nails digging into the short divider wall between toilet and sink.  She felt a tingle run up the length between her stomach and throat and suddenly she was puking again.  She coughed and gagged.  She rested her forearm on the tank then touched her forehead down to it.  This would make the third time she would have to brush her teeth and reapply lipstick.  And on top of that, it was 8:15pm.

     “Goddamnit Yamcha hurry up!”  She said to herself as she gently sat down on the bench to the vanity again so as not to jostle her stomach.  She sent another text then placed the phone face down to keep the glare of the screen from irritating her pounding head.  8:25 and still no buzz from a return text.  “Fine.  So much for ‘I’ll be there on time’.  I’ll just take MYSELF!“  She said, snatching her clutch from the vanity as if she were grabbing Yamcha by the scruff. 

     And when she came to the great meeting room of Capsule Corp, despite her perfect, eye catching dress with all its blue sparkles and subtly click-clacking sequins, and her freshly dyed aqua blue hair with its pretty ringlets and her chandelier earrings, her crystal tips and reapplied, reapplied, reapplied lipstick, no eyes seemed to rush upon her as they typically in stories about the princesses of old.  All her junior scientists were busy chatting with each other, eating the food, poking and prodding the elaborate Astia flower decorations that flowed over the tables and down the walls, as were all the secretaries and clerks and office personnel and every other attendee.  “I got his number.”  She heard a girl say in a sexy, smarmy voice behind her.

     “Didn’t he say he was waiting on someone?”

     “Well yeah but he said if she didn’t show . . .”

     Bulma turned around.  The girls had already blended in to the thick of the crowd but in the far corner, in the direction Bulma supposed them to have come from, was an obvious crowd of women who were crooning and giggling, seated or standing around someone.   “He seems so debonair!”  one lady exclaimed to her friend as they walked by. 

    “So strong!  Can you believe it?  Three Spacemen!  By himself!”

    “Could you imagine?  The nerve of that girl who stood him up tonight!”

     Bulma gritted her teeth.  She placed her hand on the shoulder of the nearest girl and spun her out of the way to find Yamcha lounging in the center of a circular corner booth with a drink in his hand and his arms around two blondes who were looking up to him all starry eyed.  He was dressed in a silk, crème colored changshan.  It had black frog buttons and seams, and a fine gold pattern embroidered into the silk.  He had his hair pulled up into a short, stylish man bun, and reeked of spray-on cologne.  “Oh hey Bulma!  Glad you could make it!”  He said as the women around him started to scowl, “What took you so long?”

     “What took me so—UGH you were supposed to pick me up!!!”

     “Pick you up?  You live here!”  He said as the blondes each gave a wicked little laugh.

      Bulma planted her hands on her hips.  “HELLO You were supposed to drop by my room and escort me to the party!  I’ve been waiting !!”

     “Oh!  Oh sorry, I guess I wasn’t clear on that point.” Yamcha said with a cheesy grin.  “But Hey! . . . I brought you something!  Ha Ha will you excuse us, ladies?”

     The two women beneath Yamcha’s outstretched arms gave a disappointed whine, then scooted opposite directions to exit the booth.  He reached his hand behind the seat and presented Bulma with a Styrofoam container.  “For my escort!  I mean, not an escort, escort, you know, like, as in escort like someone who takes you there.  My friend, hee hee!”

     “Yeah, so, the idea behind an ‘escort’ is the person who goes WITH you!”

     “Awww babe.  Babe I’m so sorry.  You’re right.  I should have known.   

     Bulma gave a heavy sigh.  She opened the Styrofoam container and slipped on the dry, yellow tiger lily corsage that looked like it was suffering a slow death from over eager grocery store preservatives.  “It’s alright, Yamcha it’s just . . . sorry I snapped at you but I’m still not feeling that well.  Maybe I should eat something before I have to give the company address.”

     “Oh sure!  Go right ahead!  The food’s delicious!”

     “So . . . you’ve already ate?”

     “Psh, yeah, as soon as I got here!  You should totally try the creamy lump blue crab with cilantro, it’s so moist!!”

     Bulma felt her stomach do a swan dive within her abdomen.  She patted her hand in the air and headed towards the buffet, away from Yamcha and his lumpy creamy skin crawlingly moist words.  She dotted her plate with a few harmless finger foods and took a seat at a table in a darkened corner all by herself.  Alone.  Alone again.  Dressed beautifully, yet still unable to capture the attention of the man all the girls adored, who had kissed her so tenderly just a few hours before and now behaved as if he barely knew her.  Every so often the spinning lights from the dance floor would hit one of the large, mirrored sequins on her dress, and a blue spark would float happily across the table linen.  But instead of the spark flying to her date and wowing him with magic and beauty, it flew to an empty chair, over which Yamcha could be seen in the distance, laughing and drinking champagne with his new-found fan club.  She tried to imagine him giving the Capsule Corp company address and could only visualize him stammering through it with some line of bullshit, finger guns blazing, giving random winks to the girls as he demonstrated his prowess for destroying “spacemen” with exaggerated karate chops and wolf fang stance. 

     “Well I see you finally made it!”  Pansy said as she came up behind her daughter.

     “No thanks to Yamcha.”  Bulma muttered, “waited in my room for like a half an hour.”

     “Huh.  Didn’t know you were waiting on him.  I thought you’d be here with Mr—“

     “No.  Don’t.  Mom just stop, ok?  He didn’t want to go.  I told him it was important to me, and he still didn’t want to go, so just . . . forget it.  I’m not chasing him.”  Bulma said as she pushed the appetizers around on her plate.  “Yamcha and I had a good talk today and umm, it actually kinda seemed like maybe he was honestly wanting to get back together and get serious about things and ummm . . . we shared a kiss and it was . . . nice.  It was really nice to just kiss someone and just be affectionate . . . innocent physical affection.  Affection without it being such a big deal.”

     Pansy’s shoulders slumped.  Her ever-present cheery smile faded as she took in the sight of her daughter, how pale and small and dim her little girl seemed to be.  “Uh huh, well, you gotta do what your heart tells you to do, I guess.  Well look I promised your father I’d grab a little desert for him so I’d best be off.  Why don’t you come sit with us at the family table instead of sitting here in the dark all by yourself?  If Yamcha wants to join us, he’s welcome too.”

     “Thanks mom.  I’ll tell him when he comes over.  IF he comes over.”  Bulma said as the group of girls let out a simultaneous cheer over Yamcha’s antics. 

     Pansy scanned over the group of girls.  “Huh.  You mean to tell me that a kiss makes _that_ all better?”

     “Mom.  Please.”

     Yamcha pumped his hands in the air to the beat of the party music.  He swept his arm to one side and bowed his way out of the crowd.  “Thank you, Thank you ladies, I’ll be here all night!”  He exclaimed in a loud, obnoxious voice just before trotting up to Bulma’s table.  “Wow, did you see that?  They just can’t get enough of me!”   

     “Yeah, yeah I saw.”  Bulma replied as Pansy folded her arms and walked away.

     “You still feeling sick, babe?”  Yamcha said as he took a seat at the table.  “Aww I’m sorry.  You want me to get you anything?  Some punch maybe?”

     “Punch would be nice.”  Bulma said with a faint smile as Yamcha laid his hand on top of hers and gave it a rub. 

     “Anything for my girl.”  Yamcha said as he brought her hand up to his mouth and gave it a kiss.  “You stay here and I’ll get it for you.”

     Bulma took her hand off the table and curled it into her lap as Yamcha bounded away towards the punch table.  She wiped the side he’d kissed against the scaly sequins of her dress and pitched her body forward just a little, hiding her hand within the bend of her waist.  Her stomach was turning again, but not from the pesky, persistent airsickness that had plagued her since her return from the crater, but from the strange, nagging feeling that she should have never have let Yamcha’s kiss go so far.  “What is wrong with me?”  Bulma muttered out loud, “Why do I feel so torn about this?  This is stupid.” 

     Bulma pulled off the tacky yellow flower strapped to her hand and tossed it to the centerpiece. She put her forehead in her cupped palm as the tears pooled behind the waterproof mascara that lined her bottom lashes. This was the party she had spent so many weeks dreaming about, yet there was nothing she wanted more than to be back in her room, and when she closed her eyes, and let the tear slide off the back of her long, lovely eyelashes, in her mind’s eye she could only visualize Vegeta lying next to her, his bare body curled around hers, the tip of his widow’s peak making contact with the vertebrae in her neck, the sound of his breath, the subtle growls and grunts he’d make in his sleep as he was no doubt dreaming of battle.  “I don’t want this.”  She whispered to herself, “I don’t want this I don’t want this.”  She said as her vision suddenly switched focus from the security of his embrace to the feeling of his shoulder disappearing under her hand, his suddenly jerked away knee, his crossed arms, and his snarls.  Everything about his body language seemed to spell out just how much disdain he still held for weak earthlings such as herself.  Had she become so caught up in the romance of giant strawberries and cacao trees that she had missed his obvious hate?  Maybe Yamcha’s kiss had gone as far as it did because she needed to be reminded of a kinder, gentler, more normal kind of love.

     “Here ya go, babe.” Yamcha said as he sat down a cup of amber colored, fizzy liquid.  “I thought maybe a ginger ale would help settle your stomach.”

     “Oh!  Oh that’s . . . that’s very thoughful of you, Yamcha.”  Bulma said as she straightened her posture and took a sip. 

     “Well yeah!  Of course!”  he said as a plain white card poked out of his breast pocket and fell to the floor.  “Is there anything else I could get you? Dessert maybe??” Yamcha said with a nervous laugh as he quickly bent over to retrieve the card. 

     “No, this is fine, really.  I have to give the address in a few minutes anyways.”

     “That’s something I’ve always admired about you, Bulma.  You have such an awesome career!  You’re so dedicated!”  Yamcha said with both finger guns pointing in her direction.  “Now if I could just get a little dedication myself I could get back into the swing of training and we’d have those androids licked in no time!”

     “Well, it’s not like dedication is a mood or something else you have to wait for. If it’s something you want, you have to make the decision to--”  She said as the music suddenly died down and the spotlight focused on the stage.  “Oh boy here we go.  Thanks for the ginger ale Yamcha, that really helped alot.”

     “Aww it was nothing, don’t mention it!”  He said as Bulma stood up from her chair, “Go get ‘em tiger!”

     So with her stomach settled and her self confidence on the rebound, Bulma took to the stage.  She waved to the crowd as the MC announced her name.  She gave her hips a sexy little swish as the spotlight hit her full-on, sending out a blast of blue sparkles to the audience.  She stood at the podium and straightened the pages of her speech, smiling as she surveyed the faces around the room.  “Tonight we celebrate another fantastic year full of discovery and innovation here at Capsule Corp, a year that could not have possible without the dedication and hard work of all those who dare to wear the double C.  Without your passion and without your commitment to our company, to science, to teamwork and to being the best of the best, we could not have climbed to the heights as we have seen this year.  Together we have formed a strong, unbreakable bond, accentuated by fun and flexibility, balance as well as no holds barred, all-in immersion into our life’s work.  Let’s have a big round of applause for our company and each other!” 

     Altogether the Capsule Corp partygoers gave an uproarious cheer.  They raised their champagne glasses and whooped, and the junior scientists, who had perhaps hit the champagne a little too hard, called out Bulma’s name and put their fingers to their mouths and let out ear-piercing whistles.  It was at that time that the joy of being able to use her great wealth for such an act of generosity began to eclipse the great darkness that Bulma held in her heart.  She read a few more paragraphs outlining all the achievements of Capsule Corp’s various scientific and engineering departments, gave awards and recognition to those who had put their heart and soul into making Capsule’s projects come alive, and when it seemed like every face in the crowd was positively beaming with the pride of being a Capsule Corp employee, she spied one face that was not—a face that was scowling and dark and topped with proud plume of black hair, a face whose eyes kept making contact with hers before quickly averting away, seemingly stuck in an odd triangle of anger, desire and shame, all on a body that was wearing the bright pink “badman” shirt she had bestowed upon him as a joke.  

     Bulma shuffled the last remaining pages of her speech behind the stack and said, “Once again I want to thank you all for coming.” She said, rushing through her words as her voice slightly quavered.  “Enjoy the food, enjoy the dance, everybody umm . . . yeah, ha ha . . . enjoy!”

     Bulma stepped down from the stage.  She kept one eye out for Yamcha and another out for the tip of Vegeta’s hair as he disappeared behind the wall of the much taller humans in the room.  But Yamcha wasn’t too hard to spy—he was, after all, classically tall, dark and handsome, and being that they were at a party, he was also being classically Yamcha.  From across a short distance she saw the white card from his pocket passing from his fingers to those of Bulma’s junior scientist Becky, whose red nose and bleery eyes told a tale of one too many free drinks at the wet bar.  Bulma reached out her hand to intercept.  “Really Yamcha?  Really?!” she said in a firm but hushed voice.

     “Oh you know, I uhh I just wanted to make sure she had a ride home you know, for later tonight!”  Yamcha replied with a cheesy, uncomfortable smile.

     “Uh huh and you felt the need to write your phone number and your apartment number down on a card you’ve had hanging out in your pocket all night long because, you know, what if she doesn’t just need a ride?  What if she needs a place to stay, right??”

     “Bulma no! it’s not like that!  I’m here for you!!”

     “Well if you’re really here for me and you know what’s good for you, then you damn well better do what I say, follow my lead, and not fuck this up.  Come on we’re going dancing!”  Bulma said as she violently hooked her arm into Yamcha’s and dragged him under the mirrored ball on the dance floor.  She pushed and pulled and positioned him until she found a break in the crowd, until she found Vegeta with a plate of food in his hand frozen to the spot, glaring out at them with a hatred in his eye like none she’d ever seen.   She gave a nod towards the DJ ~///@///~ and placed Yamcha’s hand on her hip, pulling him close to her as a slow song began to play.  And as the lights died down and sad notes filled the room, she placed her hand very tenderly on Yamcha’s neck, pushing his head down slightly so that her lips were not far from his ear and whispered, “Listen to me. That girl you just tried to hit on is ten years your junior, get it?  Ten Years, Yamcha.”  She said as Vegeta’s eyes seemed to grow more white, “That’s fucking pathetic and that’s exactly what I expect of you anymore.”

     “Wha-what are you talking about?!  I wasn’t hitting on—“

     “She’s also my right hand girl.”  Bulma said as she slid her arm seductively up Yamcha’s shoulder, “If you would have tried anything with her, drunk or no, she would have told me everything.  Every gory detail.  Your sloppy, disgusting, tongue-wagging kisses . . . your clumsy attempt to feel her up . . .  your record setting 2 minutes in bed . . . I would have known, Yamcha.  In a way, you should be grateful it never went as far as you wanted it to.”  She said, giving Yamcha a smooshy, lipstick-thick peck on the cheek.

      Vegeta tightened his grip on the edge of the paper plate.  He gritted his teeth, felt the electric current of his ki ripple under his skin until it radiated out, frightening a few of the drunks who had staggered too close to the Saiyan’s bubble of personal space.  He felt his breathing quicken as she gave what appeared to be a loving nudge against her dance partner’s cheek with her cheek.  He clenched his jaw.  He breathed through his nose.  He curled his fingers under on the hand that wasn’t holding the food and formed a tight fist, but despite his urge to rush upon the dance floor and pull the spine out of the human shitstain that he had tolerated for far too long, he also felt an odd kind of calm wash over as he observed how every tender loving stroke she made was done as she was looking deep into his eyes, as if they were for meant for him and not the human she was dancing with.

     Vegeta let his ki die down.  He took a seat in the chairs that lined the back wall and tried very hard to shrink away into the darkness.  He felt a stripe of raw hatred boil up from the pit of his stomach as she ran her fingers through Yamcha’s hair with those hands, those persistent, thorough, flea-banishing hands.  Had it been his hands on Yamcha, they would have been wrapped around his neck, squeezing the breath and life out of his flesh like the juice out of an orange.        

     “Oh!  Mr. Vegeta!  I didn’t expect to see you here tonight!”

     Vegeta closed his eyes and shook his head.  He frowned as he laid eyes on Pansy Briefs, biting his tongue slightly to keep it in check.  “I-I just came here for the food.”  he curtly replied. 

     “Huh.  Well, that’s what your mouth says but that’s not what your eyes are saying.  You’ve hardly taken them off of her since you walked through that door.”

     “Off of who?”

     “Oh please, you’re not slick.”  Pansy said as she cut into the giant Capsule Corp cake.  “I’d notice it even if she wasn’t my daughter.”

     Vegeta bristled.  He pushed his food to the center of the plate but still could not bring himself to take a bite, not while the occasional tiny blue speck of light led his eyes back to her, to the depths of her great, blue eyes, her pale white skin, her hair the color of oceans, a prize among planets, rare among humans, even more so in the galactic-- 

     “Cake?”

     “What?!”

     “Cake?  Do you want a slice of this cake while I’m cutting it?”

     Vegeta gave a dismissive “ _Tch”_.  He set his plate down on the chair beside him and turned his head, yet the blue sparkles from Bulma’s dress caught his eye once more and brought them back to the dance floor.  He looked deep into the shape of her, how form fitting the shiny scales of armor, her ass so round and alluring, remembering the taste of it, of her, the little sounds she’d make as he brought her to the heights of sexual pleasure.  What undergarments lay underneath that dress for the mate of her choosing to discover?  Would they have straps to hold, soft material to lick and suck and bite?  Was she wearing any undergarments at all under a dress that fit so tight to her body?  As his eyes traveled from her ass to her breasts she turned, and again Vegeta found his line of sight caught by big blue eyes . . . big blue eyes that seemed tinged with longing and sadness, even as she laid her head on his rival’s shoulder.  

     “Look, I really shouldn’t say anything because I don’t want to be one of those moms who meddles in everyone’s business but . . . seems to me that, the way you’re looking at her, and the way she’s looking at you, that the two of you only have eyes for each other.” 

     Vegeta wrapped his arms around himself.  He rolled his eyes only just high enough so as not to be petulant, then followed them back to the trail of blue sparkles. 

     “Alright, suit yourself.  I get it.  You’re a loner.  That’s just the way some people are, I suppose.  But isn’t it kind of fun to pretend, just for a little while, that you don’t have to be that way all the time?  Some people just bring it out of you, some people make it alright.  You just have to trust them enough to let them do it.”

     “Are you going to continue like this for as long as I’m seated here?”  Vegeta growled, “I thought I’ve made it quite clear – I DON’T need anybody.”

     “Well I don’t need this cake . . .”  Pansy said with a wink as she rubbed her voluptuous hip with her free hand, “. . . but I want this cake, do you see the difference?”

     “The difference is you’re giving in to your indulgences.”

     “Hmm, well, when you get to my age, I think you’ll find that there are only so many parties, and only so much cake . . . and you can stick your nose up at it if you want to and look down on those who get all losey gosey with the indulgences while you’ve had your shoulder to the wheel, but someday you may wonder why you starved yourself.”  She said with a wink as she combed her fork through the icing and took a bite.

     “Do I need to move?!”

     “You know, I gave a party once where I made a gorgeous little honey cake that looked like a beehive and I got so distracted by my own doings that I gave every single last bit of it away without getting a single bite myself.  I followed that recipe to the letter, spared no ingredient, no detail, everyone bragged about how good it was, and I got none--none of it Mr. Vegeta!  Do you know how mad at myself I was afterwards?  Well I decided right then and there that for all my parties going forward, I was going to be the very first one I cut the cake for.”

     Out of sheer habit, Vegeta gave a quick “ _Tch_ ” and turned his head. He leaned forward and planted his elbows into his knees with his forearms draping in between.  But try as he might to keep his eyes focused on the details of the room—the flowers, the linens, the sconces on the wall, the food he still hadn’t touched, the sound of sequins, the bounce of blue curls, the sparkle, the familiar sway of her body, called his eyes back to her.  He was staring again, and she was staring back.

      And while Vegeta’s eyes were locked on that far away, frustrating prize, Pansy Briefs bent over and very discretely pushed a small piece of cake off the cake server and onto his plate.   The sound of dry crackers bouncing off the taunt surface of the saucer as the dessert hit dead center perked up his ears.  He looked at the cake, then looked to Mrs. Briefs, catching only the sight of her shapely backside as she disappeared into the crowd.  She had given him a corner piece that was white with lavender trim, the very top of which was decorated with a bright blue buttercream flower, an overly sweet earth indulgence, needlessly pretty, cold, smooth, imbued with an enticing fragrance that would have been near irresistible had he not felt as though it were being forced upon him.  The thought of slapping the plate and its contents to the floor flashed through his mind, but so too did the thought of slapping Yamcha into his next life in the other world.   

     “So this is it.  This is pretty much it, Yamcha.  After this, it’s the end.”  Bulma said in a husky whisper right into Yamcha’s ear, sending fine rows of goose bumps over the surface of his skin, “No more me and you, no more us.  You played me, and I’m done.  We’re done. Finito.  Forever.” 

     “Oh-o-o-okay.”  Yamcha replied as the song died down, swallowing the lump in his throat. 

     “And if you EVER touch one of my junior scientists again,” she said, pulling him into her a little closer, “I will shove a tank capsule so far up your ass that if you so much as fart, you’re gonna turn into a Transformer, got it?”

     “Y-ye-yeess Bulma!”  Yamcha said, turning a shade only slightly whiter than the coat he was wearing. 

     “Now be a good boy and kiss me.”  She said, but as Yamcha bent in to carry out his order, Bulma ducked aside.  She shook her head and threw up her hands, lifting the sides of her gown as she trotted away from Yamcha like Cinderella from the ball at the stroke of midnight.  She went through the doors to the back patio that overlooked her mother’s flower garden to where a heavy garland of Astia flowers lined the benches and the railing.  She did not need to turn around when the door burst open behind her a few minutes later to know who was approaching, and she did not flinch when his two strong arms surrounded her and she bent over the railing. 

     “What.  The fuck.  Was that?!”  Vegeta snorted down Bulma’s back as she quickly pulled away.

     “That’s what happens when humans attend a dance together.  You know, mutual affection.”  She said to the courtyard below, throwing her hands palms up in the air.

     Vegeta’s eyes narrowed.  “You did that . . . with the intention of pissing me off!!”

     With her back still safely turned to him, Bulma smiled to herself.  “Don’t flatter yourself, _Prince_ Vegeta.  I did it because I’m a young, beautiful woman worthy of attention and affection, and since it didn’t seem like I was worthy of any of those things from YOU, I got it from HIM.  So regardless of whether I did it intentionally or no, it happened.  The fact that you’re pissed off about it is not my problem.” She said as she turned to walk away.  

     Vegeta’s hand shot out to his side, catching Bulma’s.  Bulma paused.  She arched her eyebrow and slid her eyes to their very corners, trying to catch a glimpse of him, determined not to turn her head and look behind just as he was determined to look forward and not meet the poison stare of the blue brute.  Vegeta felt his face burning bright in the cool night air, imagining all the humans on the other side of the door peering out at them, the gossip of the insignificant, was she worth it?

     _Is he worth it?_ Bulma thought to herself as she gave his hand another tug, but Vegeta’s grip was firm—not painful, but resolute, immoveable.  “Let go.” She said in a bland, emotionless way. 

     But Vegeta did not like being controlled.  He instead pulled his arm forward in a slow, steady motion, forcing Bulma backwards until he could wrap his arm around her waist.  Together they stood in silent, seething tension, side by side, still facing opposite directions.  He brought his hand flat against her hip and pressed her into him, his eyes sliding to their far corners as he tilted his head slightly upward.   “May I tell you something?”  He said, observing her pouty features closely as she gave a subtle nod, “I . . . may have misunderstood . . . something about humans.  A small, stupid difference, between human females and Saiyan females that I . . . may have misinterpreted.”  He said hesitantly as his face grew a deeper shade of scarlet, “When I asked you if you were satiated, I wasn’t asking for a dismissal.  Most . . . Saiyan females . . . want nothing more to do with a male once . . . once they’ve . . . had . . . enough.”  He said as he struggled to find the words, “I was . . . unprepared . . . for a female without such a distinctive . . . end time and it . . . caught me off guard.  Your affection felt like a taunt, your insatiable ways seemed as though they were telling me that what we had done was not enough, that it would never be enough, and it angered and frustrated me.  I wondered what you wanted of me I wondered . . . what game was being played.  I had naught to offer you, not wealth, not prestige not . . . not any kind of a prize beyond my royal title.  How could even I, a Prince, pretend . . . to serve the needs of such a fair and ethereal female, as intelligent and ruthless as I have strived to be over the course of my life?  You . . . maybe don’t understand yourself . . . but . . . Bulma . . . I surrender this to you, a truth I have held secret . . . that in all my travels, of all the planets and races I have either conquered or destroyed, I beheld no female who aroused such an immediate lust in me.  There is none I have desired with such extreme polarity.  My desire for you has corrupted me thoroughly, and now what?”

     Bulma turned her head. 

     “My lust for you or my lust for power?  Which is it?”  He whispered, “What way do I turn?  So many years spent in singular focus.  I thought of _nothing_ else.  I was so close!!  So close to achieving the Super Saiyan form, but you . . . you dangled the prize of your courtship so tantalizingly that I thought . . .  I thought if I could just take a taste, it could all be over . . . curiosity satiated, but I did not count on more, and more, and more.  I did not count on your lust being just the same!!! By the Kai most Supreme, I could not reconcile the very thought . . . of meeting an equal I did not want to destroy!!”  He said through gritted teeth

     Bulma placed her hand on Vegeta’s face and turned it towards her own.  She placed a small, sweet kiss on his lips, which grew into bigger kiss, which grew into them embracing one another.  All at once Vegeta seized Bulma in much the same way as he had during their first encounter, when he took a leap of faith out of the washtub and spilled the two of them out onto the floor.   “Be careful with me, I’m still sick!”  She said with a gasp and a giggle as Vegeta clumsily brought her crashing down to a nearby reception table, sending a flurry of Astia petals up in the air.  And as they fluttered down again, and Human and Saiyan remained locked in the silent joy of gazing deep into each other’s eyes during the brief, beautiful blizzard of flowers, a single, soft, broad-leafed petal, white in color, landed neatly over the part of Bulma’s lips.

     “If softness is a sickness that women bring, then I too am desperately ill.”  He said as he laid his lips down upon the Astia petal and pushed it into her mouth with his tongue, lapping against its soft, fragrant, buttery surface as she returned the same from the other side.  She gently pushed it back as Vegeta withdrew from her.  He closed his eyes and kept the strong, sweet petal in his mouth for a moment, savoring its earthly essence before swallowing it.

     Vegeta took a few short, powerful breaths through his nose.

     He gave a sound that was something like a growl. 

     He kept his eyes closed as he brought his hand down to the center of her chest, but as his palm touched her skin, he felt a firm thump against the same spot on his own body.  “Ba’hwung.” she uttered, and the mighty Prince Vegeta felt his knees buckle.  She searched the black disks of his Saiyan eyes as he pressed himself down upon her once more, his lips, his tongue, his mouth seeking unity with hers as he kissed her with a tenderness that usually came only after mating.

     “Wha—what is this?  What the hell are you doing to her!” 

     “Yamcha!”  Bulma said as she and Vegeta came up from the table, “Fuck I thought you’d left!”

     “What the hell?? What the hell Bulma?!”  Yamcha screeched as he clenched his fists and thrust them down to his sides.  “How could you get upset with me giving my phone number to another girl if you’re out here doing stuff with—with HIM??!!  How could you after all the things he’s done?!?!”

     “Yamcha, if it wasn’t clear enough before, it’s done  We’re done.”  Bulma said as she seated herself in Vegeta’s open arms. 

     “BUT I STILL LOVE YOU!!!”

     “Why don’t you put my love on a little white card and recycle it with someone else.  I’m leaving with him.”  She said as Vegeta slowly lifted off the ground and took to the sky.  “Bye!! Bye love!!”  she said, pumping both middle fingers up and down in the air as she and the mate of her choosing flew off into night. 

 

 

 

 

 


	15. Midnight Run !

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bulma can't fight her cravings for something sweet, but is there more to it than that?
> 
> \---------------------------------------------

“Vegeta . . . remember when you asked me if I were ummm . . . satiated?”  Bulma said as she stared up at the ceiling all glassy eyed, “I think . . . I think this is it.  I . . . I actually don’t think I can take anymore.  I think we’ve kind of fucked ourselves into insanity.”

     Vegeta slowly rolled over from his back to his stomach, the bedsheets sticking to his body in places.   He stuffed his face into a pillow and made a _Nnnnngggggnnn_ sound, his eyes opened to slits then fell closed again with the same kind of effort as his blown, laboring lungs. 

     “I am so glad . . . this is your room and not mine.”  She said as she rolled her head to one side, looking over the blankets, the pillows, the clothes, the boxes, the takeout ordered over 3 days’ time, the oils, the lube, the belt, the broken paddle and the well-used toys left lying on the floor from the few hours they had managed to venture outside of Capsule Corp to the adult bookstore in an insane fit of _more_.  “Please promise me you’ll do something about all this.  I don’t want to think of Mom’s housekeeper dealing with . . . with . . . stuff.”

      “Later.”  Vegeta managed to mumble as he drooled into his stained pillowcase.

     “It smells like a goddamn orgy in here.  I smell like a—oh my Kami . . . Oh my Kami I need a shower so bad.”  Bulma said as she pulled herself up to a sitting position with weak and shaking abdominal muscles.  She turned and placed her feet on Vegeta’s ribs, giving him a firm and steady push.  “Get out.  Seriously just . . . we need to do something else.  You need to go.  GO!”  She said as he melted over the edge of the bed to the floor.   “Go . . . do something to get ready for the androids or something.”

       “Androids.”  Vegeta murmured, slowly struggling through the tangle of blankets as if he were hatching out of a cocoon.  He rubbed the spikes of his hair as he came to his feet and looked around as the debauchery of the last three days set in.  He stumbled about in one place, unsteady on his feet, kicking things out of the way until he saw a swatch of his bright blue training suit under the litter. 

     “Ok, let’s agree on something, seriously, we’re not fucking tonight.  I mean it.”  Bulma said as she slipped her arms into his _Badman_ shirt and fluffed out her hair.  “I don’t care if you spend the night with me, I don’t care if you sleep in my bed, whatever, but . . . let’s make a pact now.  No fucking.”

     “What are you doing with that?”

     “With what?”

     “That . . . shirt.  My shirt.”

     “I’m taking it.”

     Vegeta tugged at the legs to his training suit, pausing as he fought through his overly sexed-out stupor, leaving his back hunched and his arms drooping towards the floor.  “Why?”

     “Because I’m not putting that dress back on, not when I’m this filthy.  Nobody’s seen us for three days so like how am I going to explain why I’m wearing it if I casually venture out in it on a Tuesday morning.   Besides, I thought you hated this shirt.”

     “It’s . . . “  Vegeta replied as he managed to pull his training suit up to his chest, “It’s . . . pink.”

     “It will get me to the washroom.  I’ll grab a robe and throw this in the washer, deal?”

     “Uh huh.”

     “And . . . seriously Vegeta listen to me, listen to what I am saying, look me in the eye and hear what I’m saying to you:  we are NOT fucking tonight.  No way.  No how.  My body needs a rest.”  Bulma said as she leaned against the frame of Vegeta’s bedroom door.  “We are going to spend the day in our respective corners and just be cool with it.”

     “ . . . Training.”

     “. . . Work.”  Bulma said, tucking up her chin as if to demonstrate her resolve, but as Vegeta drew near and his hand slapped down on the door frame beside her face, and his nose sniffed the line from the open gap in her shirt and up the nape of her neck until his mouth found hers, she did not hesitate to return the kiss.  She wrapped her arms around his neck and let his tongue plunge deep as his hand pushed against the small of her back, touching his hips to hers.  She jumped as his hands slid down to grab her ass, and in a very firm and assertive tone of voice, she pushed him away and said “NO!”

     “Later.”

     “NO!”  Bulma said with her finger in the air, “You do and I swear I will bring the laser bots from the gravity room in to keep you off of me!!”

     Vegeta opened the door to his room and stumbled out, swatting his hand dismissively behind himself.  He walked down the hall to the door nearest to the gravity room, flinching hard when the sunlight hit his face full-on after seeing nothing but bed linens and flesh for a solid 72 hours.  But once the hatch was open and shut, and once he was alone in the cool, sterile hum of the machine, once the red light of emulated gravity flooded the room and the laser bots arose from their docks with their red eyes powered up to full, Vegeta . . . laid down on the floor and went back to sleep, leaving the laser bots scratching their heads with their metal tentacles.

 

 

 

    Bulma took a long, scorching hot shower. 

     She pressed her nose into Vegeta’s ‘badman’ shirt one more time before committing it to the washing machine. 

     She got dressed, brushed her hair, brushed her teeth, put on her makeup, started feeling like a human being again, yet every time she moved her knees or her elbows, or bent forward at the waist or sat down just a little too hard, she was reminded of the weekend spent with Vegeta.

     A wonderful weekend spent with Vegeta. 

     She made herself a cup of coffee and put on her lab coat, feeling her heart soar with genuine pride as she walked into the Capsule Corp lab.  It was going to be a beautiful day, at work, full of focus and productivity. 

     “Well there you are!  We’ve been wondering about you!”  Dr. Briefs said as his daughter took to her workbench. 

     “You know me, always on adventures.”  She said, giving her father bump with her shoulder.  “Have our friends from the North City Militia picked up the gun yet?”

     “Ha!  After all the time they’d spent breathing down our necks for the finished product, they left a message saying that they wouldn’t be here to pick it up until next week.”

     “Next week?!  What was the point of rushing us if they’re not going to—“

     “Well that’s big government for ya.  Everything happens on their time.”

     “Ugh what a pain.”  Bulma muttered, noticing how her junior scientist Becky seemed to be shooting awkward glances to her from across the room.  “Hey dad I’ll pick up on the next project here in a few.  I think somebody’s trying to catch my attention.”  She said as she made her way to Becky’s workstation.  “Hey kiddo what’s up?  You look kind of worried.”

     “Miss Bulma, I have kind of a problem.”  Becky said quietly with a hung head as she rubbed the outside of her arms, “I ummm, oh this is so gross but . . . I started my period today and I don’t—I don’t have anything with me and I rode the bus here and I know Shin has a car but he’s a dude and I’m too embarrassed to ask him and I really really need something because I don’t want to bleed all over the place and I was wondering if you could take me to the grocery store so I could get something because I’m stranded here and it’s too far to walk when I have that sort of thing going on and I really don’t want to stain through my labcoat or get it on the workbench or—“

     “Ok.  Becky it’s ok geesh I’m a girl too.”  Bulma said as she placed her hand on the junior scientist’s back.  “I’d offer you some of mine but I ran out last . . . ummm . . . uhhh . . .” she said, her speech trailing off as she noticed the lack of the tiny red X’s she usually made to track her period for the month on the calendar of the dayplanner she kept in her labcoat pocket.  “Yeah I mean, of course I’ll take you.  Sometimes science has to wait for mother nature, right?”  she said with an uncomfortable laugh.

     “No.  No that’s not how science is at all, you see—“

     “Becky seriously go get your purse.”

     And so the two women ventured from Capsule Corp into West City, traveling past high reaching sky scrapers and through wildly crisscrossing streets until they reached the edge of town to Bulma’s favorite supermarket.  “Thank you so much Miss Bulma I’ll make it quick!!”

     “Say you know what? I want to go in too.  I have a craving for something sweet.” 

      “Oh Cravings huh?”  Becky said with a wink, “You know what that means.  Have you been seeing somebody that you haven’t told us about? A little love on the downlow?”

     “Oh ha ha very funny.”  Bulma replied sarcastically, “By the way, did that guy from the party ever contact you?”

     “What guy from the party?”

     “The guy who was flirting with you.  Tall guy . . . black hair, scars.”

     “Oh, him, well . . . .”  She said as she opened the car door, “He came to Capsule yesterday morning. I ran into him as I was going in to the lab.”

     “And?”

     “He started his shtick and I told him I like girls.  And mature, graphically explicit Yaoi.”  She said as they walked towards the store, “Strangely enough, he backed off after that.”

     The two women exchanged wicked giggles and headed towards the store. “Oh my Kami what is that wonderful smell?”  Bulma said as the double doors opened directly to the produce department.

     “I . . . don’t really smell much of anything.  Just smells like the store to me.”  She said as Bulma began picking up fruits and smashing them into her nose to smell them.  “Aaaaannnyyyways I gotta go pick up my ‘stuff’, sooo ummm.”

     “Oh!  Sure!  Let me go with you.”  She said as she cradled an apricot in her hands and took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of it, how fresh, how pungent, how pure it seemed.  She took turns smelling the pineapples and bananas, the apples and the fresh herbs as they passed through the produce section.  She took a sample of the nectarines and it tasted intense—sweet and acidic, full of depth and utterly, utterly satisfying.  “Hold on Becky just a sec.”  She said as she filled a large paper bag with nectarines that squished just right when she lightly squeezed them and took 3 more of the samples, much to the irritation of the grocer watching them. 

     “Umm, I guess you like nectarines?”  Becky said as Bulma sniffed and rubbed the nectarines with her face.

     Bulma gave a cheesy grin and blushed, “Well, you know, I said I was craving something sweet and nectarines are in season!”

     “Yeah but when you said something sweet, I thought you meant like chocolate or something.”

     Bulma gave a gasp.  “Oh my Kami that sounds good too!  Dark!  With sea salt!”

     Becky shot Bulma a quizzical look.  “Are you ok?”

     “Sure I’m ok!  Why?”

     “Well . . . that’s just so unusual for you! You eat strawberries so much that we all kind of joke about it being the ONLY thing you eat.  Like, it’s WEIRD seeing you eat anything . . . different.”

     “Look, you have no idea how _different_ the last couple of weeks have been for me.”

     “Ah-HA! I knew it!  You DO have someone on the down low!!”  Becky said as she turned herself around and walked backwards through the store.  “It’s that one guy isn’t it?  The short guy with the crazy weird hair?!”

     “Becky!”  Bulma whined, “I don’t really want a lot of people to know.”

     “Well Tongo saw it . . . and then he told Shin WHOOPS!”  Becky said as she nearly backflipped into a floor cooler before clumsily righting herself and resuming her backwards walk, “And then Eisla said she heard you guys arguing in the courtyard that one time and that guy got all scared of you and backed off when she said they all expected him to be all violent and stuff.  She thought he looked like one of the Spacemen!!”

     “Well, he doesn’t just _look_ like one of the spacemen . . . he kind of is one of the spacemen.”

     “AHHHHHHHHHHHH THAT IS SO COOL and he’s in love with you?!”

     “Love?!” As if the girl’s words had slapped her suddenly in the face, “Oh I . . . I don’t know that it’s quite that yet.”

     “But you guys . . . well—“

     “It’s complicated.”  Bulma answered as visions of punching Vegeta in the face during sex and breaking a thick wooden paddle across his ass while he was strapped to the posts of her bed with a leather belt flashed through her mind.  “Aisle 13.  Girl products.  Right?”

     “Oop!  Yeah!  Let me see what they got!” 

     Becky picked through the colorful boxes on the shelf.  As she weighed her options of different applicators and absorbencies, Bulma’s eyes fell over the wide variety of plain and enhanced lubes.  She smiled to herself as she thought of the effect of the warming liquid, how exciting it felt when he squeezed the tube and let it drip from the small of her back down into the crack of her ass, how easily his fingers found the mark and slipped in, how merciless he was as she was screamed into the open hand covering her mouth, his open hand, his strong arms, his growls, his grunts, his sweet, comforting licks and kisses when the savagery was done. 

     “You know, any time I feel irritated having to spend money on tampons, I just thank goodness I don’t have to spend it on any of these.”  Becky said as she picked a pregnancy test off the shelf and shook it. 

     “Yeah.  No kidding.  C’mon let’s get our stuff and go.”

 

 

   

But even after Bulma and her junior scientist returned to Capsule corp, and Bulma ate all three nectarines in one sitting, there was something inside of her that still craved for more.

     It was a strange, silly kind of desire, one that seemed to dominate her thoughts in some way or another for the rest of the day.  It was stronger than her cravings for a cigarette, stronger than her cravings for coffee or strawberries, and it made all the other food consumed that day seem like something ancillary or perfunctory—not food, just obligation or duty.  It was as though the fruit held some key to a new her--Had she really gone almost thirty years without experiencing the thorough goodness of the sweet, bright, tangy nectarine?  She thought of how it felt to bite into a nectarine’s cool, red skin.  Her mouth watered as her tastebuds tingled.  _Ugh if I have to wait until morning, I’m going to make myself crazy!_ Bulma thought to herself just before slipping gingerly out of bed so as not to wake Vegeta.

     Bulma slipped into the Capsule Corp garage.  She took a capsule from her father’s workbench and as soon as she was a good distance away from the building, she pressed the tab on top and BOM!—out popped a little blue scooter!  She put on a helmet and mounted it, zooming through the night time streets as soon as she started it up.  She giggled to herself, thinking about how crazy it was to go out alone at night JUST to satisfy her cravings for her new favorite fruit.  _You know me Dad_ , “I’m always on adventures!”  She said out loud as she pushed the little scooter to its max, through the crisscrossing streets to her favorite supermarket, which thankfully was still open.  The aisles were packed with pallets of cereal boxes and cans and tissue paper, clerks in white aprons with scanners in their hands unloading them as the night stock crew worked to replenish the shelves.  “I’ll just grab a couple.  One for tonight, one for breakfast, one for a snack—Oh!”  Bulma startled as another woman appeared by her side and began filling her basket with nectarines as well.  “Guess I wasn’t the only one having a craving!”

     “No, I guess not!”  The woman said as she raised up with her hand supporting the small of her back, revealing her heavy baby bump.  “But what baby wants, baby gets!”

     “Ha Ha no wonder!  How far along are you?”

     “7 months.  Month one was pickles.  Month 2 and 3, oranges.  Months 4, 5 and 6, burnt matches.”

     “Matches?!?!”

     “I know.  It’s disgusting and weird, but . . . pregnancy can drive you to do some pretty weird things, like go to the supermarket at 12 o’clock at night for nectarines ha ha.”

     “I umm . . . ha ha yeah well, I guess it isn’t that crazy.  I mean, we’ve all gone on midnight beer runs before, right?”

     “Not in quite a while, I’m afraid.”  The woman said as she gave her belly a loving pat.  “Well, nice speaking with you.  Have a good evening!”

     “Good night.”  Bulma said, feeling an odd twinge of foreboding as she watched the woman waddle off towards the snack cakes and bread.  She pulled her dayplanner out of her purse and looked over the pattern of little red X’s one more time.   It had only been a month and a half, and she had never missed a pill, but . . .

     Bulma wandered through the empty supermarket alone, feeling suddenly somewhat guilty over her wild, midnight nectarine run.  She hooked her hair behind her ear and kept her eyes to the floor, apologizing any time she got in the way of a busy stockboy or lingered a little too long in an area they were trying to work their way through.  Eventually, she worked up the courage to enter aisle 13.  It was blessedly free of stockboys, dimly lit as though they expected no one to be looking for lube or tampons or condoms . . . or pregnancy tests . . . in the middle of the night.  Bulma reached out her hand.  She took a pregnancy test of the same brand Becky had picked up and shook earlier in the day.  She felt her heart beat all around the inside of her chest as she read over the words results as early as two weeks from missed period.  She took out her dayplanner and looked at the long stretch of white days that spanned more than two weeks, more than four weeks, then bravely returned to the front counter to pay for her midnight calling. 

 

 

     Once she returned to Capsule Corp, Bulma returned to her bedroom.   Vegeta was still dead asleep with his arms curled tight around her pillow, a pained look on his face as if he were dreaming of the days in which he received his scars.  She tiptoed past the bed and entered her private bathroom.  She took the wrapper off the box to the pregnancy test, momentarily cursing the noisy, dry cellophone.  She popped open the side to the box and peeled the foil off of the test itself.  “Ok.  Ok.”  Bulma said under her breath as she sat on the toilet.  “Place tip into urine stream, then place test on even surface.  Wait 3 minutes before reading result.”  Bulma read under her breath from the box to the pregnancy test.  “Ok.  Ok let’s do this.”

     Bulma steadied herself, then let go.

     She felt the urine hit the stick with a surprisingly heavy bounce.

     Quickly she pulled the test away and placed it on the sink.

     “Wait three minutes.  Wait three minutes before reading results.” She said as she finished urinating and cleaned herself up, but before even thirty seconds had passed . . .

                          . . .  the other line on the test had formed . . . bright and straight.

     Bulma leaned over the sink on her hands.  She felt her eyes go wide as her skin grew white with fear.  She dashed her hands to her mouth as she let loose a loud and startling gasp.  Her chest grew tight, her breath stopped as it caught in her throat.  She hugged her other arm tight around her stomach and dug her fingers into her side.  “No.  no no no no no no this can’t—this can’t be happening!!” she said as the tears welled up in her eyes, “I’m not ready for this!!! This is not happening!! This is not—“

     Bulma quickly turned her head as a heavy knock came to the door.  “Bulma, what’s going on?  What's wrong?”  Vegeta barked out, sounding more annoyed than concerned.

     Bulma looked to the test then looked to the door, fear ripping through her nervous system like white lightening.  “N-n-nothing, nothing just . . . it’s just that sickness again, that’s all.  Don’t—don’t come in here it . . . it stinks . . . really bad . . . use the bathroom down the hallway if you have to go!!!”

       On the other side of the door, Vegeta heavily furrowed his brow.  “If it’s only airsickness then why are you absolutely RADIATING fear?!  ANSWER ME WOMAN! YOUR FEAR IS NOT UNLIKE THAT OF IMPENDING DEATH!”

     “I SAID GO USE THE BATHROOM DOWN THE HALL AND LEAVE ME ALONE!!!”

     Vegeta rubbed the back of his head.  With an obvious grunt of displeasure, he snatched his gym shorts off the floor and obediently left the room, although his bladder wasn’t nearly full enough to warrant the trip.  He tended to the needs of the body and returned, but when he touched the panel to open the door, it came back with a locked response.  He tapped lightly on the door with the edge of his knuckles but when no answer came, and he could feel her fright shift to a deep, forlorn sadness, Vegeta backed away from the door and went to sleep in his own bed the rest of the night. 


	16. Distractions, Distractions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bulma Briefs is MIA ! Can Vegeta hold his focus long enough to train against Earth's plentiful and bothersome distractions?
> 
> \-------------------------------------------

Vegeta approached Bulma’s door but did not bother to raise his hand to knock.  The room was empty.  He could sense no ki.

     As he listened closely to his inner sense, he broadened his scope to all the living quarters of the Capsule Corp home.  He picked up easily on the older male & female Briefs, picked up on the servants and the cat, picked up easily on the beetles in the windowsill and the plants growing in the greenhouse, but the ki of his own mate was very well hidden.  _Seriously, we need to do something else.  Go get ready for the androids or something_.

     Vegeta wiped his gloved hand on the underside of his nose.  “She’s got guts.”  He said to himself as he envisioned her hard at work on some invention deep within the insulated walls of the lab.  He took a cue from his imaginary Bulma pushed off the ground as soon as he exited the home of the Briefs, zooming towards the vast rocky wasteland, his work the blank canvas of earth, his lab nothing but the rock, stone and sand of the desert.  He alighted on a tall pillar and surveyed the vast stretch of nothingness, but even here, ki was present, deep in the rocks where the lizards and tarantulas made their homes—so vulgar that even in its most barren of places, Earth was still teeming with life.  Vegeta focused inward and brought his power level up, pushing all other thoughts of Capsule Corp and Bulma and Yamcha and Kakarot out of his head until he could feel the line of his aura breaking free from his skin.  “How?  How did he transform?”  He said to himself, visualizing the power behind his aura.  “A low born Saiyan.  I refuse to believe that imbecile can achieve something out of pure luck that I could not out of years of practice.”  He said, visualizing another layer of power forming. “I’ve trained.  I’ve trained the right way.  I’ve taken no shortcuts. I possess the very spirit of self discipline!” He said, driving his hand into the pillar of rock under him, his eyes still closed as he drove his fist straight down through it.  He listened to the rock crash down around him, layers formed over ancient eras unknown cracking and crashing into one another like the many labyrinthian floors of the capsule corp building, where Bulma—

     “NO!”  Vegeta snapped to himself as a bubble of empty space formed in his aura.  He lifted off the devastation and landed on another rock pillar.  He brought his hands together and formed a ball of energy in the space between his palms.  He gazed deep into its electric core, rotating it with the careful movement of his fingers, feeding it here and there with different strains of his ki, marring the smooth white field of energy with blue that morphed to a light purple color, then all at once the ball took on a coat of yellow that was strong and pure and imbued with incredible power.  He took his focus off the ball for one split second and looked at his hands and arms, and watched in sudden, escalating thrill as his aura took on the color of gold, but just as quickly as he’d noticed it, the aura grew translucent, and the ball of energy he held between his hands folded in upon itself and disappeared.  “The pure of heart . . .”  He muttered to himself with a growl as he repositioned his legs and changed his stance, “Surely my heart is pure too.  There’s NOTHING I want more.”  He said as he summoned the energy flowing deep down in his veins, in the sinews of his muscles, in the marrow of his bones, visualizing the pure fire of the Super Saiyan form, the gold light of Kakarot’s hair as it flowed in that terrible moment in which he destroyed Frieza.  It was a victory that was sweet vindication to the enslaved Saiyan race, yet so bitter to their prince—that he should be the one lying there, helpless, dying, begging his sworn rival to kill the being that had slaughtered their respective families, cold death coming while such power, such dreams, such ambition, still screamed out alive in anger and terror.  “I will NOT let that happen again, do you hear me Kakarot?!”  Vegeta said through his teeth as he formed a ball of energy once again that seemed to spin through the colors faster, stronger, the power propelling its rotation spiking here and there until its circumference grew larger, fatter, deeper, richer.  “I will NOT be overpowered by anyo—“

     Vegeta suddenly ducked as a medium-sized bird of unremarkable plumage divebombed to the ground before him.   Out of instinct he let lose the ball of energy in a throw that was clumsy and misdirected, laying waste to a distant shelf of rock.  “You FOOL!” he said as he clenched his fist and shook it at the bird.  The bird blinked its black, lifeless eyes.  It pecked at the ground and pulled out a long, pink, slimy, worm that coiled around its beak as soon as it was free from the earth. 

     Vegeta fell back.  He felt his stomach clench and turn as the worm writhed, leaving its slimy, wet trail across the face of the bird. He picked up a stone and hurled it in the direction of the bird, spitting out a _Damn You_ as the rock skipped away without scaring it off.  Instead of flying off, the bird cocked its head to one side.  It looked Vegeta in the eye, lifted its beak up toward the heavens and choked the wiggling, soil-covered earthworm down its throat. 

     Vegeta felt his stomach flip again, _hard_.  “No I won’t do th—“  he said just before he turned his head and suddenly threw up in the dirt.  He coughed and sputtered and shook his head violently, but just as unexpectedly as the shock came on, Vegeta’s anger turned out and despite the sudden pendulum swing between near perfect focus on the super saiyan form and sudden, recoiling, system shock at the sight of the worm, Vegeta came back to his feet and lunged at the bird, taking flight as it took flight, channeling his anger in hot pursuit of this thing, this animal, an extra, needless, trifling distraction.  “Your rudimentary method of flight by feathered scale is no match for me you filthy, squalid creature!  I am the Prince of all Saiyans!!”  He cried out as the bird turned corkscrew into the jungle at the extreme south edge of the badlands.  Vegeta followed closely behind, mimicking the bird’s pattern of flight, diving through the dense underbrush, snapping branches with the force of his ki.  He followed the bird through a narrow hollow of vegetation that seemed familiar somehow both in shape and ambiance.  The sense of déjà vu became strong, so strong that Vegeta turned all of his senses into it, ignoring the bird, listening for some small indication of what the alien forest was trying to tell him.  Then somewhere in the hissing swish of leaves came a sound not unlike a voice, and as he turned his head and then his body around, the hissing swish formed a vowel, nasely and thin, _Summon prince vegeta!_

     _Yes lord Frieza_ vegeta heard in a haunting echo through a brown rock that jutted out from the forest floor.  It was roughly the same dimensions of Nappa as if he were in the pose of squatting on the ground, his hand to his chest as a sign of loyalty, that vassal, that traitor, sworn to the royal family yet so quick to serve their conqueror.  The space between forest and brush narrowed just as the lines between dream and reality as the memory grew more vivid.  The forest corridor became Frieza’s ship.  The trees became his army.  He returned to being a boy no older than Kakarot’s welp.  Nappa’s hand encircled his left bicep as Frieza’s tail encircled the right, _nothing but the best for our Prince_ Frieza said with a mocking laugh as he tossed Vegeta’s young body down into the pit of the lower chambers.  Vegeta struck out with his arms and legs as his heart picked up speed.  _The worms!!_ He thought to himself in white hot terror as he plummeted head first into a thick tangle of vines.  They wrapped around his waist and chest and neck, choking him, awakening that ever present, ancient, well buried fear.  _I will not succumb!!!_

     Vegeta sent a sudden blast of red hot ki out from his body and zipped out and away from the prehensile plants, up the face of a moss covered rock, spying the twittering movements of tailfeathers and wings.  “I’ve got you!!”  he said in a hoarse whisper as he dove down towards the gray shadow of the bird, but just as quickly as he had spied it, the shadow and the bird both disappeared.  He tried to tune in to the bird’s ki but found his senses obscured by unwanted images of the vines wrapped around his body, the tail of Lord Frieza choking him to death, the worm writhing in its putrid juices, blindly slapping the bird on the cheek before it slid down its gullet.  “This planet is a nightmare,” he said, rubbing his gloved hand over his eyes as the bile threatened to rise from his stomach again, “Every time I venture outside I’m reminded of exactly why I stay in the gravity room.  I don’t care if the same domed walls are all I see, I don’t care if it drives me insane, I MUST have focus!!”  He cried as he blasted off towards Capsule Corp.

                                                                                         ***

 

And three earth days went by peacefully with no worms or birds . . .

   . . .  but also no golden aura and no Bulma.     

On the forth day, Vegeta dressed himself in his typical workout gear, but instead of going directly to the gravity room, against all better judgement, he reluctantly, petulantly, definitely not intentionally directed himself towards the working laboratory area of Capsule Corp. 

     “I wish to see her – where is she?”

     The security guard swallowed the lump in his throat as he faced the stare down from the shirtless Saiyan.  “M-M-Miss Bulma is here at Capsule Corp at an undisclosed location.  She left instructions not to be disturbed.”

     “Is she sleeping in this ‘undisclosed location’ as well?”

     “F-f-for the past four days, yes.  It’s not—I-i-it’s not unusual for our scientists to stay at their own workstations for days at a time if they’re really focused on an experiment.”

     “It’s unusual for _her_ , don’t you think?”  Vegeta groused as he crossed his arms and tucked his hands into his armpits. 

     “Eh, I guess but those are things I don’t question when she’s the one who signs my paychecks.”  The guard said as he tipped the bill of his hat slightly downward, as if reminding Vegeta of his authority by flashing the golden shield. 

     “Bothersome human.”  Vegeta muttered as he turned away and walked back outside.  He closed his eyes and focused on that extra sense within himself that allowed him to feel her ki, to seek it out, to hunt it down much like the bird in the forest, but it too was camouflaged somehow, elusive; each time he felt some small strain or vibration that felt distinctly _her_ , it seemed to shield itself behind the vibration of _him_ , as if he were in his own way.  A clever trick, but not wise.    

     So Vegeta respected the distance she was obviously trying to keep, and begrudgingly returned to the gravity room, keeping the pace of his training intense and his focus keen.  He disabled the safety locks on all the laser bots and set the amperage way beyond their as-built threshold and prepared himself to train as though it would be the last day of his life. But as he readied himself to go through his routine, he noticed the sound of voices outside.  “Bothersome twittering.”  He mumbled to himself as gave the signal to the laser bots to begin, but through the high-pitched squeal of their warm up sequence, he again found his attention diverted to the sound of human language, male and female, insistent, urgent, irritated and annoyed—a fight was brewing.  He flew up to the round windows that circled the top of the Gravity Room and peered down at the backyard, where Mrs. Briefs sat in a kneeling position with her face scowling up at Yamcha.        

     “oh COME ON!”  Pansy said as she threw her garden spade forcefully into the ground before planting her hands into her hips, “Can’t you take a clue?!

     “Pleeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaassssssssseeeeeeee Mrs. Briefs??? It’s the only way I can get through to her!”  Yamcha said as he pushed the parcel forward again and wagged it in her face, “She won’t return my calls and the guy at the lab won’t let me in anymore.  Please, can’t you tell her how much I—“

     “Mr. Yamcha why don’t you show some self respect!” Mrs Briefs said as she crossed her arms over her breasts, “You’re supposed to be one of the guardians of our planet for goddsakes and you’re acting like a real chump!  I’m about to ask the man from the lab if he could guard my garden from you too!”

     Vegeta gnashed his teeth.  His ki charged through his spine and his limbs.  It rustled the spikes of hair on top of his head. 

     “Yeah but Mrs. Briefs you’re the only one who can really talk to her.  Mrs. Briefs?  Mrs. Briefs??”  Yamcha said as Pansy stood up from her kneeling position and started walking away.  Yamcha leaped up into the air and landed on the ground in front of her.  He wagged his arms and legs in the air and shook the tears from his wet, red face and squealed “PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE GIVE THIS TO HER IT’S THE LAST THING I’LL EVER ASK FROM YOU I PROMISE!!!!!!”

     “ALRIGHT MY GOD STOP MAKING SUCH A SCENE!!”  Pansy said as she snatched the small package from his hand.  “I’ll make sure she gets it, just . . . go do something to save the world already.”

     Yamcha dived down to the grass and grabbed Mrs. Briefs by the ankle.  He brought the top of her foot to his mouth and kissed it over and over.  “OH THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU!!” 

      “UGH GET OFF OF ME!!!” 

     Vegeta’s eyes narrowed down on the sight of Yamcha touching the older female, Bulma’s mother, the generous hostess of the house.  He felt the aura of his ki ignite around him in sudden fury and he rushed down to the hatch of the gravity room, grasping the wheel to the door.  But as he tried to turn it, the robotic voice of the gravity room’s computer loudly warned _Safety lock engaged. Artificial gravity field must be shut down prior to chamber exit_. 

     “THEN SHUT IT DOWN!!!”  Vegeta spat out as the red light of the room grew softer, and the hard tug on his arms and legs and head from the artificial gravity grew lighter.   The door unlocked with a loud metallic CLANK and Vegeta swung it open and burst through.  He laid eyes on Pansy, who was sitting on her butt in the grass looking very surprised to see him, her hands splayed out behind her as if she’d just fallen.  “WHERE IS HE?!”  Vegeta roared.

     Pansy pointed towards the sky.  In the far off distance, he could make out a small speck sailing up through the atmosphere.  Vegeta focused the power of his ki through the tip of his index finger, forming a ball of energy that crackled with power.  He steadied his arm and focused all of his hate on the tiny point among the clouds that was steadily growing smaller.  Pansy screeched “MR. VEGETA !!!”  but just as he was about to let the burst of energy go, a large passenger plane crossed the sky that hit Yamcha head-on with a TWAP!

      “Now just what the hell was that about??”  Pansy said as she planted her hands into her hips, “What if you had let go of that . . . that . . . whatever it is you call it?  You could have seriously hurt him!!”

     “That was the intention.”  Vegeta replied as they watched Yamcha’s body circle down and hit the ground in the distance,  “Fucking idiot.”

     “Well be that as it may, he’s a harmless idiot . . . which doesn’t go the same for you.”  She said as she dusted off the seat of her pants and picked up the box, “You really need to watch it with that thing, it’s not like we’ve all forgotten about the Spacemen incident.”

     Vegeta narrowed his eyes and gave a _tch_.  He tugged at his gloves and glanced at the small, rectangular box wrapped in brown paper that she held in her hands.   “What is that thing that he gave you.”

     “Hell if I know.  Probably some cheap garbage he dug out of the bottom of a thrift store reject bin.”

     “And where is your daughter?”

     “Oh for the love of . . . not you too!”  Pansy said as she threw up her hands and walked away.

     “She hasn’t been seen in days, doesn’t that concern you in the least?”

     Pansy Briefs paused.  She gave a loud, obvious sigh and turned to face the Saiyan Prince, who averted his eyes as they met those of the glaring, older female.  “Mr. Vegeta, with all due respect, I have been in my daughter’s life for a lot longer than either you or Mr. Yamcha.  I am familiar with her habits, and I know what’s normal and what’s not.  I’m going to tell you right now that if you expect her to be at your beck and call to wait on you hand and foot, or for her to give you nothing but her undivided attention, or for her to be some devoted, doting automaton, it ain’t gonna happen.  She’s attracted to you, you know she’s attracted to you, and you know that he—that fool over there—he ain’t no match for her, so what’s the point of acting insecure?”

     “What are you going to do with that box?”

     Pansy gave a shrug.  “Give it to her.”

     “Why would you give it to her if you yourself acknowledge him as a fool?!”

     “Because it’s not my decision to make!”  She said as Vegeta rolled his eyes and gave a groan, “Look, she’ll come out when she comes out, and between the two of you, I’m sure she’ll make the right decision.  Stop worrying yourself.”

    “I’m not—TCH!”

     “TCH!!”  Pansy buzzed right back as she sashayed away towards Capsule Corp. 

       

                                                                                                                               ***

   That night, Vegeta returned to his room exhausted, frustrated and alone.   He slept soundly in black, dreamless sleep until sometime in the latest hours of the night, he heard the beep of the keycard.  The door rolled back--the silhouette of Bulma Briefs appeared in his door frame.  Vegeta quickly rolled over onto his side, turning his back to his many days absent mate.  He felt his anger rise as the weight of her sank down on the bed next to him.  She smoothed her fingers and her palm over his bare skin and up to his shoulder which he moved out from beneath her with a huff.  And as he jerked it away, Bulma briefs broke down in a flood of wet, ugly tears.  She cried until the corner of his pillow was soaked, cried until her choking breath shook the bed, with Vegeta scowling and gritting his teeth unseen.  Eventually she turned away and cried until she fell asleep, and once she was silent, and the sobbing stopped, Vegeta rolled over.  He wrapped his arm around her and placed his hand in the center of her chest.  

     The next day when he awoke, Vegeta was still sleeping his hand held over the heart . . . of his dry and lifeless pillow.  He rolled his eyes to himself . . .  let the pillow fall to the floor.

 


	17. The invention of a lifetime !  What words are spoken at Kami's Lookout?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bulma is close to the breakthrough of a lifetime, but will an old frustration spark off something . . . unintended?
> 
> \---------------------------------------------
> 
> Whew! Well it's been a crazy hard run for the border and boy are my fingers TIRED ! :D But I'm proud to present to you the conclusion of part 1 of Earth Vermin and hope you've enjoyed the story overall (I'm going to take all of your kind and generous comments as a YES on that :) Lol) I do have *some* scenes already written out for part 2 but I'm afraid I'm going to have to go into a gravity chamber of my own to really make that work in a spicy and new sort of way since I won't really have smut to rely on anymore . . . not saying there won't be smut in part 2 because there most certainly will, it just won't be as smut heavy, so thank you thank you THANK YOU so much for all your support over these last couple of months - you've really kept me encouraged and motivated and I really super appreciate it :D !! Thanks everybody !!! Look for part 2 sometime at the end of summer!  
> \--------------------------------------------

“That’s not it, shit.”  Bulma said under her breath to herself as she tweaked a diode on the board of the instrument in front of her, “Got to be something that can bring the accuracy up a little higher.”

     Bulma’s eyes touched over the shiny metal tools arranged in a row in her toolbox, ordered in descending size, their plastic handles chipped and stained and worn from years of good use.  She smiled faintly as she thought of those times when she had used them to repair her Capsule Car with kid Goku peeking out from the other side of the hood all wide-eyed and curious, then rubbed her hand over her lower belly as it began to cramp.  Figures Goku would be a full-blooded alien from another world.  What would life had been like for him had he stayed on his home planet?  How strange was it that some bit of his home planet was now buried and growing in her, aggressive and foreign, half blood mingling with the nutrients and elements of the earth. 

     Bulma took the 1/16th screwdriver from the case and touched it down to the small hole connecting the instrument board to the greater machine board.  She guided her soldering iron close to it and melted one bond and formed another, waiting just long enough for the wires to cool before booting up the machine.  “Ok.  Particles.  Particles first.”  She mumbled to herself as she stared into the dark blue, pencil-width forcefield that spanned the length of the positive pregnancy test and box she left lying on her desk.  She took a small can of aerosol spray and shot it into the field, marveling as every trace of the super fine spay slipped away into the vacuum.  “What time is it?” she mumbled as she lifted her head and looked all around the room, “Oh my Kami I took all the clocks off the wall, shit why did I do that!”

     “My guess is—“  Dr. Briefs said as he ducked his head under the large, industrial exhaust pipe that bordered Bulma’s secret workspace, “—because you didn’t want to be reminded of just how much time you’re spending down here.  It’s 3:15, by the way.”

     Bulma quickly dashed her hand to the pregnancy test and box and stuffed them both into the pocket of her labcoat.  “3:15 . . . 3:15 . . . AM or PM?” 

      “Oh Bulma.”  Dr. Briefs remorsefully replied, “Have you really not been outside to see the sunlight today?  No wonder your mother is worried.”

     “Did she send you down here to check on me?”

     “Well probably.”  He said as he reached into his pocket.  “She sent me down here to give you this, but . . . I’m sure she’s expecting me to tattle on how you’re holding up.”

     “What is it?” she said as she took the brown paper box.

     “Something from Yamcha.”

     Bulma rolled her eyes and cradled her forehead in her palm.  “Ugh, again?”

     “Yeah, again.”  Her father said as he lit a cigarette, “and according to your mother, he and Vegeta got into it . . . again.”

     “Of course.”  She said as she pressed the pedal to the wastepaper basket beneath her desk so she could toss the unopened package inside.  She cleared her throat and straightened her sitting posture, wrapping her other arm around the lower part of her stomach as he drew near to inspect her experiment.  “It’s umm . . . It’s a time machine, dad.”

     “Time machine, eh?  Yes, I see.”  He said as he examined the nuts and the bolts and the intricate wiring of the prototype,  “How far along are you?”

     “How—how far along?”  She said, feeling the same white-hot fear rip through her heart as the night she took the pregnancy test.

     “In your experiment, yes—how far have you made it?”

     “Oh.  Oh tha—I umm . . . I’m still working on some way to—to quantify that.”

     Dr. Brief’s eyes narrowed, “Why is it so important to you all of the sudden anyways?”

     “Well isn’t time travel the holy grail of scientific discovery anyways?  I mean it’s . . . it’s time travel, dad.  Son gave me the idea and I . . . I just went with it, that’s all.”

     “Huh.  Well. Ok.”  Dr. Briefs said with a shrug of his shoulders.  “Anything I could do to help?”

     “No.”  She said as she swallowed the lump in her throat, “Just something I kind of have to face on my own for now.  Feels like I’m really on the edge of a breakthrough but . . . I still have a lot of things on my mind.”

     “Well, don’t let a doddering old fool like your dad interrupt you with news of worried mothers and men behaving like boys.  I know first hand what an unwanted annoyance such distractions can be.”  He said as his eyes narrowed in on the routing of the mini particle collider to the capsulizer.  “You sure this should be forwarding and not truncating?”

     “I’m sure.  She said as she lifted her small electric screwdriver to the complicated network of placement valves and changed the flow.  “See, If you adjust it this way, it doesn’t—hey . . . hey what is this?”  She said as her eyes followed a bright white dot to the opposite wall, “is your penlight on, Dad?”

     Dr. Briefs felt over his breast pocket and shook his head.  They both walked to the opposite wall and placed took turns placing their hand over the bright pinhole of light, checking all around for any sign of its origin.  “May be a umm, unintended side effect of the material you’re working with, dear.”  He said as he took his cigarette between his fingers and exhaled a plume of smoke.  “Odd.  By the way, it’s now 3:20”

    “Ha ha Ha thank you.”  Bulma said with an earnest smile as she wrote the observation down in her work journal, “If everyone thought like you, I wouldn’t have to squirrel myself away from the world.”

     “Usually about the time of day you start the afternoon coffee, isn’t it?” 

     “Coffee?  Ugh that sounds so good right about now.”

     “Hmm well, don’t think it would hurt anything to take a break for a little while, do you?”

     “I . . . I don’t want to do that . . . dad.”  Bulma said as she envisioned Vegeta sulking at the dining room table, dressed in his Saiyan armor, his finger hooked around the handle of a coffee mug expectantly as if she were the serving girl and he the impatient royal, “I just need to be alone with my thoughts.”  

     “Alright.  You sure you don’t need some snacks or fresh blankets? Maybe a hot bath capsule?”

     “Dad, it’s ok, really.  You don’t have to concern yourself with my well being.”  She said as she stuck her hands in her labcoat pockets, her face turning slightly green as her fingers traced the shape of the pregnancy test. 

     “But of course I do!  I might be a doddering old fool but I’m still your dad, and I still love and care for my little girl very, very much, enough to keep her secret hiding place secret after all these years.”  He said as he gave her a quick kiss on the forehead.  “I know you’ll make the right decision.  You’ll come out when you choose to come out.  You’ve always operated on your own special Bulma kind of time.  You just let me know if you need an extra wrench in the works, ok?”

     “Thanks dad.”  Bulma said, her heart sinking as she watched him duck under the metal pipe.  She listened closely to his footsteps as he exited the room and lost a few tears as the door shut behind him with an ominous, metallic clank.  Alone again with the hum of the machine, Bulma hardened her heart and returned to her experiment.

     But on the other side of the door, Dr. Briefs was not entirely alone.  As he walked down the hallway smoking, talking to his way through his daughter’s equations out loud as if double checking her work on the fly, tucked into the confusing criss cross of ductwork that lined the underbelly of Capsule Corp was the Saiyan Prince Vegeta, whose black and shinning eyes glared out at the elder male.  _Why should his ki come through so loud and clear to me but not hers?_  

     Vegeta allowed the pull of earth’s gravity to gently pull him down to the floor.  He narrowed his eyes as Dr Briefs climbed the steps to the next level of the building and listened carefully for the door on the upper level to open and close.  He listened closely to that inner sense, placing his hands upon the steel door that her father had come through, but whatever machine was on the other side was creating an odd distortion like none he’d ever felt before, not even with technology as advanced as that of the Tuffles.  A rip, a tear, a border, a barrier . . . that was deep and dangerous, many tears shed, in fact the only sense of her that he could obtain was one of unrelenting fear and shame, very unlike the brash, loud, vulgar woman he’d come to know.  But however small it was, it was distinctly a feeling of her.

     And so Vegeta slid down to the floor with his back to the wall, determined  . . . _to wait_

 

 

 

Bulma paced the floor of her secret workspace.  She combed her fingers through her dirty hair, then quickly replaced her arm around her abdomen, gripping it, squeezing it, the space growing hard just below her navel as hot on her mind as the routing of pipes and wires and energy through the maddening tease of a machine before her.  Every so often she would reach into the pocket of her lab coat and pull out the pregnancy test just to reconfirm, just to see the bright blue line, just to hold some tangible evidence in her hand that what she was doing wasn’t yet another mad fit of more like Vegeta had been, the Saiyan fuckboy, the one who had so gently pushed the Astia petal into her mouth and—

     “No.”  She said aloud to herself as she stuffed the pregnancy test back in the wide pocket.  “Ok.  Ok if I . . . what if it’s more than just a matter of ripping time open?  What if it also takes a certain amount of energy to sustain crossing over into it?”  She said as she took a seat on the stool at her work station and began to edit a few routines, “Maybe . . . we can observe a change or rip in time but it takes an entirely different energy to cross over into it.  Maybe I just need to focus on . . . what if I capsulized a . . . maybe I’m overthinking this maybe it . . . maybe it just takes several smaller subroutines to . . . Son’s instant transmission, it . . . it’s an organic technique . . . what if he saw someone on the other side of the tear, could he . . . “

     Bulma rubbed the lower part of her belly as equal parts hunger and nausea climbed up her esophagus to her stomach, tingly and urgent, wedging its way into her thoughts like a crowbar prying apart the steel doors to the secret room, the secret lab, she the mad scientist.  She took a few crackers from the drawer in her desk, just enough to stave off the monster within—would it look like Vegeta?  What if their Human-Saiyan hybrid didn’t work out as well as Gohan?  What if it were some hideous, twisted abomination, a child of anger, lust and impulse, the worst of both of them? 

      “Ok.  Sub routines.  It would be easier to bring a small thing across than it would to bring a large thing across, right Bulma?”  She said to herself as she wiped the corner of her eye with the back of her wrist, “If I could just bring particles across . . . but how do I prove it???”  She said as she arranged the schematics on her screen in cascading fashion and studied the various layers of her creation, swiping back and forth between instrument and machine, generator and forcefield, software and hardware, computing and mechanics.  She rearranged parts in a virtual environment again and again, connecting and taking pieces away to condense the overall design, making it more compact, more efficient, more powerful. 

   Hours passed.  She set hands on the machine and applied the changes made on screen to the actual machine itself.  She changed and rearranged and deducted and added so much that the very idea of the device soon became almost abstract, distant from her, routine, all thoughts focused on something else other than the life growing inside her, on something other than the reason why a time machine, the holy grail of science, had become a critical goal line.  She tested each connection for structural integrity and ran her gloves down the energy conduits to make sure they were ready, then rolled out from under the machine on her mechanic’s creeper.  She wiped the cold sweat of fatigue and sleep deprivation off her brow and flipped the tear-drop shaped switch on the instrument panel to initiate a warm up routine.  The blue-black forcefield presented itself, a little wider this time as power fed into the machine more readily under the direction of her new changes.  She pulled off her goggles and her gloves.  She grabbed her fine aerosol spray and readied her finger on the top, and as she pressed down the fine spray was immediately pulled into the beam, disappearing into the other side easily.  “But where are they going?  Are they going forwards or backwards?  Are they in this dimension or somewhere else?  Oh how can I even tell!  This is pointless!!!”  She said as she brought her elbows crashing to the desk, flipping the penlight into the air until it came to rest on a small stack of manila file folders so that the light was poised up and away to the opposite wall, only, the light wasn’t shinning on the wall.  The light had disappeared into the dark blue forcefield of the experimental time machine as it was running--just as the aerosol particles has been sucked into the beam, so too were the particles of light from the penlight.  Bulma searched the surface of her desk in wide eyed realization.  “The light . . . a watch wha—what time is it?!  SHIT WHAT TIME IS IT?!”  she said as she yanked all the drawers of her desk open until she found the cell phone that she intentionally buried under stacks of old files.  She quickly whisked away the screen full of text notifications from Yamcha and laid eyes on the time—3:20.  3:20 and the penlight was pointed towards the forcefield.  3:20 and the beam of light was nowhere to be found in the darkened room.  Bulma flipped through the pages of her work journal and absorbed the number from written from 12 hours ago in wide-eyed horror—the light wasn’t there, _because it was in the past!_  

     Bulma stared deep into the blue-black beam.  She felt the elation rise in her body, tingly and light.  She drew up one corner of her mouth in a smile that distorted as her chin began to pucker.  “I . . . I did it.”  She said to herself as she rubbed her hand over the lower spot in her belly just beneath the navel, tears welling up in her eyes like a flash flood overwhelming a low lying plain.  “I did it.  I could . . . send a note I could . . . spell it out in lights I could . . . warn myself.”  She said as she blinked, sending the tears down to her jumpsuit, “Oh Kami what have I done???  What have I done?!”

     Bulma folded herself at the waist to lay on her desk, forehead cushioned by forearm.  She held her breath slightly, fighting the moan of despair that eventually escaped and filled the intimate space between her face and the desk.  She reached into her lab coat pocket and laid the box to the pregnancy test on her desk, cradling the test itself in both hands as the tears rained down in a steady deluge.  “I’m sorry.”  She whispered to it, “I don’t know why I . . . I don’t . . . I don’t want you to go . . . now.”  She said with a sniffle, “Why did I try so hard?  I was just so ashamed!!”

     Bulma dropped the pregnancy test to her desk and covered her eyes with her hand, sobbing.  She laid her head back down on her desk and sobbed until her coat sleeve was soaked, until her tears erased all thoughts of equations and mechanics and improvements, until her tears ripped up all the notes she’d imagined sending to her past self, warning her to stay away, stay innocent, stay a girl and not a mother.  She sobbed until she surrendered to her own exhaustion, and fell asleep in the workspace her father had kept a secret from everyone else in the family since she was a girl. 

 

 

     Vegeta startled awake with a snort.  He unfolded his arms and pushed himself up from the floor.  He placed his ear to the steel door and listened closely to the sounds inside, hearing neither machine nor human movement on the other side.  Carefully he opened the door and slipped inside, marveling at how such a large space could be so easily hidden within the odd shaped building.  He floated down to the floor to keep his boots from touching the steel steps and made his way to a soft light that shone from the back of the room, there his mate was lying slumped over the desk, her head resting on her arm, a pained look still etched into her lovely face, blue curls all around.  He nearly had his arms around her when he noticed a certain box resting just beyond her fingertips, small and rectangular, marked all over with writing in human language that he still could not read, a thing laying beside it with two lines, the tip of it thick with the scent of her urine.  _Yamcha_ he thought to himself as he took the box in his hand and slowly crushed it.  _They’re still affectionate with each other, still intimate, and here I am playing the fool!!  Why am I wasting my time with all this?!  Why am I so caught up in earthly concerns?!  Why can’t I read this blasted language?!?!  Why is my own mate so profoundly affected by this that she must isolate herself away from me, unless . . . this gift . . . this gift is a bonding offer from . . . from that . .  that son of a bitch!!!_   He thought to himself as his ki became enflamed.  _No more!_ He thought as he strangled the box hard in his hand _, No more of this!!  I’ve had enough of these petty attachments!!!_

 

 

     Bulma awoke to a vibration, a definite tremble, that rumbled through her metal desk from the concrete floor of her secret lab.  “What th—are we having an earthquake?”  She said as she slipped off her high stool and ran up the steps and out of the lab.  She ran down the corridor and up the next two flights of stairs as the tremble became stronger.  She raced to the living quarters of the house, following the sound of a roar, the windows of the house lit up orange and yellow and white as the gravity room began to gain liftoff.  “No . . . oh no no no no VEGETA!! Oh my Kami NO!”

     “What the hell is going on here?!  It’s four in the morning!!!!!”  Pansy briefs screamed out over the roar of rocket engines blasting far too close to the house, “IS HE INSANE?!”

     Bulma frantically raced to the command center of the house.  She flipped switches and turned dials.  She slapped her hands against the instrument panel and barked into the communications microphone as soon as it acknowledged that it had established communication with the gravity room, “VEGETA LISTEN TO ME !! DON’T LEAVE!!!  I NEED YOU HERE!!!!!! VEGETA I’M PRE—“  but before she could finish her sentence, the light indicating communications had been severed flashed a bright, damning red.  “I’m . . . I’m pregnant.”  She said, not realizing until she turned around that her father was standing in the door, his heart breaking along with hers.  “Dad!!”  She cried as she laid her head into his chest, “Please don’t hate me!!”

     “Honey!  No! No, you’re--you’re pregnant?!” he said as Pansy entered the room behind him and dashed her hand to her mouth, “Is he the . . . the . . . ?”

     “Yes.”  Bulma said as she crumbled to the floor on her knees, “and now . . . now he’s gone!!”

     Dr. Briefs and Pansy Briefs looked to each other.  Pansy wrapped her arms around her daughter as Dr. Briefs typed in an override command, his face growing dark and serious as he spoke into the microphone, “Now listen here you coward!  You either turn that thing around or—“

**************COMMUNICATION FAILED--COM SEVERED MANUALLY BY OCCUPANT*************

     “Shit.” 

     “It’s ok, dad.”  Bulma said as she tugged at his labcoat just like she used to do when she was a toddler clamoring for her famous scientist father’s attention, “I can do this.  I’ve always got by just fine on my own, this is no different.”  She said, feeling her tears all run out as the orange rocket boosters of the gravity room disappeared into the night sky, “I can do this.  I don’t need him.  I don’t need some Saiyan fuckboy to try to play father to a child when this is the way he deals with his problems.  To hell with him.  I am Bulma Briefs, and I’ll be five times the parent he’d ever be as a father!” 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

     _6 months later . . ._

 

 

     “Piccolo . . . I have something to ask of you.”  Bulma said, revealing her growing belly from under her long coat, “I want to go to Kami’s lookout.”

     Piccolo narrowed his Namekian eyes and studied her maternal shape.  He gave an affirming nod and wrapped his arm around her back, taking to the air gently as he felt her trust in him reflect honest and sincere through her ki. 

     “Bulma is it?”  Kami creaked in his ancient voice as Bulma and Piccolo approached the throne, “If you’ve come for a prediction about the well being of your child, I cannot provide that.  You have already greatly sinned in the eyes of the Kai by tearing open the time barrier—at this point, to divulge any information about your baby would be only adding insult to injury!”

     “That’s not what I came here to ask.”  Bulma said as she ran her hand over the arch of her hard belly, “You have been alive since before Planet Vegeta was destroyed, is that correct?”

     “Yes.  That is correct.  On this planet, not on any other, so what is it that you would ask of me that pertains to Planet Vegeta?”

     “Kami . . . Vegeta said something to me before he left that I wish to understand.  He gave me no translation, and I would think if anyone in the world would know what these words meant, it would be you.  Do you have any knowledge whatsoever of the Saiyan tongue and what a particular set of words might mean?”

     “If they were common enough I might.  Speak them to me slowly, that I might provide an interpretation.”

       Bulma swallowed the lump in her throat.  She took a deep breath and felt her heart beat hard within her chest.  “Ba’whe.”  She uttered, and the baby inside her stirred.

     Kami gave a low grumble.  “That word is not easily translated into your language.  It depends highly on the context of the situation in which it is said.  What is the other word he said for which he left no translation?”

     “Ba’hwung.”

     “Ba’hwung aww now there’s a word I indeed know and understand.”  Kami said with a kind, paternal smile.  “Ba’hwung is something uttered female to male, a sign of the highest affection, a priceless bond in the eyes of a warrior race.  Do you wish to know what it means?”

     “Yes.  Please . . . please Kami, tell me.”

     Piccolo raised an eyebrow as Kami glanced up to him and gave a subtle nod.  He cleared his throat as a look of understanding washed over his face, and spoke in his sollem, baritone voice the idea transmitted to him telepathically by Lord Kami, “The words literally mean, I trust you.”

     “Oh.”  Bulma replied, feeling her heart break just a little as the baby turned again within her stomach.  “But what about Ba’whe?  Do neither one of you know what it means?”

     “The translation of this word is tricky, because its applications are many.”  Kami said to her, smiling as he traced over the round shape of her stomach, “But  . . . judging in context of the other word, the best translation I can give is . . . “ he said, glancing up to Piccolo again, expecting him to finish his sentence.

      “I’m vulnerable to you.  It more or less is a confession that the speaker’s pleasure is made vulnerable with the presence of the other.   It is sometimes said from low ranking to high ranking warriors to indicate a special kind of loyalty that goes beyond battle, and therefore is applicable to male/female relationships, because Saiyans are never supposed to show their pleasure in anything, at any time, so when said male to female, he is . . . surrendering to that pleasure, in a sense.”

     “Love.”  Kami replied, “A deep love.  Same conditions, different concepts.”

     “Love.”  She replied, her mind flitting over images of the rising sun, his hand over her heart, of Astia petals and blue sparkles, of the Saiyan boy hidden behind the hardened adult as his hand encircled her bicep, urging her to say it.   She felt her heart grow peaceful and strong.  She laid her hands to both side of her stomach and gave a little smile, saying directly to the being inside of her, perhaps for the first time with bright feelings of joy and excitement for the future, “Ba’whung.”

 

                                                                                                              ~~~~~END OF PART 1~~~~~


	18. An Earthling on Station 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vegeta has been roaming the galaxy in search of the ellusive Super Saiyan form, but what of these rumors of an Earthling aboard Space Station 21?
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> 
> Haha SURPRISE an update :D ! No promises on more though--not sure how regularly I will be updating in July as I am currently working with a proofreader/editor to self publish my [unrelated to DBZ] book, but I like to work on this story to stay sharp and you guys with all your kind comments and kudos certainly make it worthwhile ! :) This is just a small little bump, then we should be headed into part 2 proper ;) Thanks for your support guys!! 
> 
> (Oh and once I get the OTHER book published, I'll be sure to inundate you with pleas to buy my stuff--ooops, I mean, a convenient link where you can buy a copy :D if you so choose . . . )
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_“I didn’t care anymore!  I didn’t care about being better than Kakarot!  I didn’t care about being a super Saiyan!  I didn’t care if I lived!! I didn’t care about anything!!!_

_…….and then, it happened”_

 

 

 

 

      A pink cardboard box.  The pulp of dead earth trees, hardened, dyed, covered with language symbols, the most obvious being a plus or a minus, sat overlooking the vast reaches of space from the instrument panel of the Capsule Corp space pod, millions of miles from the landfills it would have ended up in, a prisoner of decay.  Its center was bent to the shape of a palm after it had been strangled many times over at some replaying thought, some fresh and maddening feeling that refused to let go. 

     Prince Vegeta stretched his hand out again.

He took up the end of the box by the balls of his gloved fingertips and tilted it, eyes touching on the symbols of human language, feeling that same stale, corrosive rage rush up the back of his neck like upwind from his cold black heart, every unknown word antagonistic, every shape and color a mockery of his intelligence.  He tossed the box back into the small crevice between the instrument panel and the window, then hailed the passing vessel to the port side of the ship.  

 

_“Yes, I too have heard this and it is no rumor.  Set your coordinates to the following for Station 21 but remember, they still swear their allegiance to #####.”_

    

 

                                                                                                    ***

 

 

“Prince Vegeta!”  the long beaked alien exclaimed as the port to the space station rolled open, “Sir I—forgive my startle, but I was of the belief that you had perished!”

     “I’m sure.”  Vegeta replied, slipping easily back into galactic tongue.  “This is station 21, correct?”

     “Yes, my lord.  And there are still many aboard this ship that swear allegiance to Frieza.”  He said as he positioned himself in front of the Saiyan prince with both arms thrown out to the side, “It would not be wise for someone perceived as a traitor to proceed this way.  I can lead you to supplies and fuel, whatever you want—but you must leave this station peacefully, can I gain your agreement to do so?”

     “Ha, you should know better.”  Vegeta said as he folded his arms tight against his chest, “Fortunately for you, I’m here for neither fuel nor refreshment, nor do I have any interest in vanquishing idiots that cling to their faith in a dead idiot.”

     “What are you here for then?”  the other growled, “I’ve never known you to set foot on a vessel without the mission to conquer or pillage.  State your business!”

     Vegeta raised an eyebrow at the bird alien’s brash tone.  “I’ve heard . . . a whispering among passing space travelers . . . that you have someone of earth aboard this ship.  Is this true?”

     The alien slowly relaxed his arms.  He mirrored the Saiyan prince with a raise of his eyebrow and tilted his head at a right angle as those of his race were apt to do in times of curiosity or doubt.  “Perhaps.”  He replied with a snap of his beak, “But what use would an earthling be to you?  They have no power, they’re not particularly useful . . . Taller than you, perhaps,” He said with a chuckle, “But utterly useless for the most part.  In fact, it’s a wonder that fat fool Sorbet hasn’t jettisoned this earthling by now.”

     “How long have you had them in holding?”

     “Not in holding.  General Sorbet is entertaining this backwater moron in the science center as a guest.”

     “Take me there.”

     The long beaked alien folded his arm across his stomach and gave a courteous, formal bow.  He turned swiftly enough on his heels to twirl out his cape, then proceeded only a few feet into the hall before opening a narrow service panel that provided a shortcut into one of the ship’s lesser used corridors.  “You may not remember this,”  he said in a slightly quieter tone as they made their way down the abandoned walkway, “But many cycles ago, you and I served upon the same ship, the ship where Frieza himself centered his command.”

     “Ha!  Served.”  Vegeta snorted as the other set his finger to work on the instrument panel to a heavy, bolted door.  “I was placed aboard that ship by my father.  It was his word that I was serving.”

     “Ah, but didn’t you remain after Planet Vegeta perished?”  He said as the lights on the panel blinked and the large bolts at the top of the door clanked to an open position.  “Your father was vanquished when the planet was vanquished.  We all knew you were the most powerful being on that ship.  You could have—“

     Vegeta grasped the alien by the shoulder straps of his Saiyan-style armor.  He lifted him in the air and slammed him against the wall.  “I was a child.  I had been trained to value power above all else!  Do you really think my enslavement was due to some sort of inner weakness that I could not overcome?!”

     “N-No!  No Prince Vegeta!  It’s just that—“

     “Do you really think I would turn on what was then the most powerful being in the universe out of some sentiment for a father who placed me aboard the ship of our enemy and ordered me to stay?  I endured a living hell under Frieza, and every cut, every lash, every time I was brought to near death, I hoped and I prayed that the ghost of my father could feel it in the otherworld.  I prayed that it tormented my father in hell!”

     “Y-yes—Yesss sir your reasons are your own!”  The alien said as his legs flailed limply below his body, “You had your reasons I see that now!”

     “You were no doubt like the rest of them . . . Waiting on ME to liberate you!”  Vegeta spat out as he threw the alien to the floor.  “Now he’s dead and gone, and you STILL haven’t liberated yourself!  You still cling to the same army, still you stay within the same halls and same ranks that you say hold you as prisoner, surely I am not the fool here!”

     “No!  No!  Nobody said that you were!”  The alien said as he pushed himself up to his knees and took on a begging position.  “Please sir I mean you no mallace!  Forgive me!”

     “Take me to this earthling!  I’m getting impatient!!” 

     The bird alien scrambled to its feet and pressed the remaining two locks to the door open.  It opened to a well-lit airlock style chamber with four doors, no windows, no indication of whether it would open to another room in the ship or to space.  “You do realize,” Vegeta said as he folded his arms tightly to his chest, “That I can survive in the extremes of space for quite some time.”

     “Y-yes my lord.  I have no intention of betrayal.”  The other said as he laid his hand on a lever to the door that they were facing.  He punched a code at the top of the door and pushed the lever down, and as the door opened, it revealed a science lab not unlike those at Capsule Corp—a cold, metallic environment, sterile and still and quiet.  The hard scowl on the face of the Saiyan Prince dropped momentarily as he breathed in the mix of oxygen so particular to earth.  He found himself briefly awash in the memory of tall palms trees and gentle breezes, the wastelands, the tightly manicured backyard of Capsule corp, cool bedrooms, warm washrooms full of pungent, green suds and a beautiful, demanding, green-haired woman.  But the earthling standing behind the desk trading chemicals from one vial to another without even so much as a nod their way was not _her_ as Vegeta had secretly hoped, it wasn’t even female, but something seemed familiar about the earthling’s face . . .   

     “Dr. Shin, it is my great honor to present to you the last of the Saiyan Royal line, Prince Vegeta of planet Vegeta, sir.”  He said with a formal bow, presenting with his arms, clearing his throat as he took notice of how engrossed the scientist remained with his experiment. 

     “Yeah . . . just . . . give me one more moment I just need to . . . get this mix right.”

     “I don’t think you understand,” The bird beaked alien stammered, “This is Crowned Prince Vegeta, Prince of all—“

     “Shut up and get out.”  Vegeta growled, “Leave us alone.”

     The bird beaked alien profusely excused himself all the way out of the airlock.  The earthling male tipped the chemical in one of the vials from one beaker to another, and cracked a slow, delighted smile as the concoction lit up an phosphorous green that started in the center of the liquid and spread to the rest of the contents bright, strong and energetic.  “Exactly as I thought!  That’s how they get from one end of space to the other so quickly!”  he said as he collapsed back into his chair.  He wiped his hand over his brow and looked to Prince Vegeta as if he had only just entered the room.  “Say, haven’t I seen you somewhere before?  I mean, you—you’re an earthling, aren’t you?”

     “Most certainly not.  What region of earth are you from?”

     “West City.  It’s on the continent of—“

     “I am familiar with it.”  Vegeta snapped, “and since you seem to be a man of science, I’m going to assume you can read.”

     Dr. Shin took a cigarette from his pocket and gave a scoff, “Well yeah, not a total dumbass you know.”

     Vegeta’s eyes narrowed.  He took from a secure place under his armor the crumpled box that had shared the journey into space with him and tossed it to the earthling’s desk.  “I need you to tell me what this says.”

     Dr. Shin glanced at the box.  He chuckled to himself and pitched forward from his leaned-back position, turning the box in his hand momentarily before dropping it to light his cigarette.  He took a long draw and blew a plume of smoke into the air, laughing to himself once again as he looked at the box, then back to Vegeta, who was squeezing his arms a little tighter in on himself as the scowl on his face grew more hardened.  “You’re serious?  You seriously don’t know what this is?”

     Vegeta narrowed his eyes to a silent hiss. 

     “Dude, come on.  Wait . . . “ he said as he took another long draw off his cigarette, “I do know you!  You were—you were that guy.  That guy Dr. Briefs was . . . Oh.”  He said as he turned the box in his hand one more time.  “You—you didn’t know, did you?”

     “I didn’t ask for your commentary, boy—I asked you to tell me what the box says.”

     Dr. Shin softened his smile.  “It’s a pregnancy test.  A woman . . . pees on it and if her urine contains HcG, which is a hormone only produced during pregnancy, the lines on the test go from a single line to a double, in this case, a cross.”

     “A cro—a cross?”

     “Yeah.  If the person you took this from had a cross on the actual test, then that would mean that they’re . . . you know . . . pregnant.”

     “Pregnant . . . with child?”  Vegeta said as a wave of realization washed over him as suddenly as the memories of mating that involuntarily flashed through his brain, “It’s not . . . it’s not a proposal of union?”

     “Uhh, well, that happens sometimes with these tests, sure.  Depends on whether or not the guy’s an ass.”  Dr. shin said with a chortle as he straightened the box slightly by pulling on either end. 

     “Pregnant.  She was pregnant.  With my child.”  He said as his breathing began to quicken, “My child . . . my son my daughter my . . . my progeny.”

     “Your son, actually.”  The brash scientist said with a smirk, “You were that guy with Dr. Bulma Briefs, weren’t you?  I mean, c’mon guy we all saw it!  You two were practically humping each other on the back patio at the Capsule Corp company party last year.  She had her baby right before I went on the mission that got me kidnapped!”  He said, throwing both arms out dramatically to his sides.  “Yeah, good ol’ Capsule Corp . . . send a guy with a double PhD out into space in a shitty space capsule with a clunkity old gravity core because, you know, clearly this is the best use of THAT brain trust!”

     “Son . . . my son . . . my son has . . . my son has already been born?”

     “Yeah.  Was quite the scandal.”  Dr. Shin said as he propped his face on his hand, “Kind of funny that a woman with that kind of money and social stature would turn out to be just another unmarried mother.  Not even that Yamcha guy would claim it.”

     Vegeta jumped up and flew through the room, catching the earthling by the throat.  He stood with both feet on the desk as he wrenched the man out of his chair and brought him to his face brow to brow.  “WHAT DO YOU MEAN, CLAIM IT?!”

     “I-I-I mean they . . . . y-y-you know how humans are they . . . . th-th-they chatter and make up rumors and they all assumed Yamcha was the father b-b-but h-h-he wouldn’t own up to it!   And she never—she never told any of us anything about the father we just –we just had to politely ignore the fact that sh-sh-she was with child.”

     “So you turned her into an object of RUMOR . . . and my son into a BASTARD?!”

     “W-w-well what else do you call it when a woman is pregnant and the father is not in the picture?!”  The man choked as Vegeta tightened his grip, “C’mon man I’m just telling you the truth!”

     “HOW FAR ARE WE FROM EARTH?!”

     “I-I don’t know!  I-i-it took them something like 30 days to bring me here b-b-but I don’t know anything more than that.  I—I-I’m captive here!.”  He said as Vegeta dropped him in the chair and started towards the airlock door.  “Wait!  If you’re going back to Earth, please, please take me with you!  Please look, I’m sorry I was kind of a dick but . . . but I don’t have any other way of getting back home!”

     “Sounds like a personal problem.  When I get back to Earth, I’ll be sure to spread the rumors. . . “  he said as he looked over his shoulder, “About some bastard spending his time in space playing with his chemistry set, an earthling alone on an enemy ship, what a dumbass, except, of course . . . “ Vegeta said as he lit up an energy ball at the time of his raised index finger, “You won’t actually be alive—that part of the rumor will be a LIE!”  He said as he sent a blast that disintegrated the earthling’s body and seared through the ship’s wall, breaching the hull, setting off alarms immediately all over the ship.  Vegeta grabbed the box to the pregnancy test out of the chaos of beakers and vials and chemicals and pipes and desk and body parts as they spun out into the blackness of space.  “Pregnant.  My Child.  My Son.”  He said. He strangled the box in his hand once again, then slowly, gently, as peacefully as his boiling rage would allow, he stretched his hand out to the empty void of space . . .

                                         

                                                                                                                                        ……and let it go

 


	19. Bulma and Baby - Life in Balance?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bulma adjusts to life as a single mom, but not everybody's happy about it! Will Bulma's strong personality help keep things in the balance, or is a visitor from space about to rock her world?
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~~[Part 2 - Earth Vermin]~~

 

 

 

 

“There you go, sweetheart.  There’s mommy’s guy!”  Bulma cooed as she peeled the sides of the diaper away from the front,  “I know, I know . . . nobody likes a wet diaper!  Nobody likes the wet diaper little guy!!”  she said as baby Trunks began to fuss.  Gently she enclosed both ankles and lifted his lower body by the legs, raising him just high enough to peek at the spot at the base of his spine—a tail stump, lavender in color, same as his hair and his thick, scowling eyebrows.  “Uncle Piccolo did a good job on you yes he did!  Yes he did, mommy’s baby!”  she cooed once again as she slid a fresh diaper beneath him, “Uncle Piccolo loves all the Saiyan babies just like mommy loves her baby . . . Speaking of which, mommy and baby have a picnic scheduled for today!  Would you like that?  Just me and you, no science time!  No work, no babysitter, no nana or grandpa, just mommy and Trunks!” 

     Bulma pulled the little cat-eared cap down on baby’s Trunks’ head.  She picked him up and gave him a kiss and a cuddle, smiling warmly as he babbled and clutched at her breast.  She stuffed the diaper bag with a few more nappies and wipes, and neated the blankets on his bed in anticipation of his afternoon nap.  So much had changed in her life since Trunks had been born and all for the better—her days were now full of fuzzy stuffed animals and sing-a-long songs, playdates and co-sleeping, every day full of bright rays of sunshine and wonder, all the world feeling fresh and new with Bulma eager share with her tiny, sweet, innocent, perfect baby boy.  His smiles melted the gloom, his chubby, dimpled arms with their great big hugs chased away the pain.  She had never smiled so bright or so often, nor had she ever kept smiling so earnestly.  Baby Trunks, angel,  savior . . . his sunny smiles could only ever be darkened by the thought, the distant, fading thought, of the one . . . the one who she had never imagined would be her lover, the one who made her believe in love when he made the impossible come true . . . then promptly reminded her of exactly why love had felt so impossible to begin with.

     “Don’t forget to take a bottle full of water for him before you go, sweetie!”  Pansy Briefs called as her daughter rushed by kitchen door, “It’s hot out there today and he may need more than what you can make for him.” 

     “Thanks mom.”

     “Oh and don’t forget, he has an appointment with Dr. Rich on the 23rd at 8:05am at his practice on—“

     “I knooowwww where the clinic is, mom.”  Bulma replied with a smile, “I’ve got his appointment stored on my phone.”

     “And could you please have Mr. Piccolo or that Dende fellow to take a look at his tail?  I’m just so afraid it’s gonna get infected !”

     “Oh mom, it’s kind of like an umbilical stump.  Vegeta had one after Yajirobe had cut his tail off as an adult, and even though it was healed it was still kind of brown and fuzzy.  I think they just look like that all their lives, I don’t think it’s a product of bad healing.”

     “Maybe not, I dunno . . . Ah, Mr. Vegeta.”  Pansy said with a sigh, “I hate that things turned out with him the way that they did.  Trunks is such a beautiful boy . . . looks just like him in the face.”

     “Dad’s hair and eye color though, right?”

     Pansy’s smile faded slightly.  “I just . . . it pains me that . . . my little grandson will never know his real father  . . . well, maybe Vegeta will be back soon, I don’t know.”

     “Mom, come on, don’t—he’s gone, ok?  It’s been over a year.  He’s not coming back.  And you know what? I’m not sad.   Really, I’m not.  Maybe it’s better this way.  I mean, you know me, I’ve always been very independent . . . I don’t know that I could handle the whole nuclear family setup very well, especially not with someone like Vegeta.”

     “Well . . . it’s not you that I’m really worried about.”  She said as she stuck her pinkie out for Trunks to grab, “When he grows up, he’s going to have a lot of questions . . . “

     “Which SON may be able to---ok well, maybe he’s not the best choice for fatherly advice . . .”  Bulma said as her mother cocked and eyebrow, “Gohan.  Maybe Gohan can explain.”

     “Ha!  Can’t imagine that boy being much of a mentor to anybody.  When’s the last time he ever saw a playground, or another kid for that matter, the way his mother keeps him tied to that desk.” Pansy muttered,  “Anyways you be careful with the baby out in this heat.  Tiny bodies don’t cool off quite as quick as ours do.”

     “I’ll be careful mom.  I love you.  Thanks for keeping an eye out for us!”

     Pansy leaned her shoulder against the door frame as she watched her daughter and grandson disappear through the front door.  “Love you too.”  She mumbled to herself with a sad, worried sigh.

 

 

 

 

     “Allllllright mommies and babies!  It’s time!!”  said the rosy cheeked hostess as she pranced about in her white frocked dress and red gingham apron, “Everybody get ready to sing and move along!  Ready?  A one and a two and a—The car takes on the wings! The car takes on the wings!  It sails through the sky! It sails through the sky!”  She sang as she lifted her own baby into the air and sailed her around like an airplane, “And mommy makes it land! And mommy makes it land!  In the Capsule goes again!  In the Capsule goes again!”  She said with a kind of scooping motion that brought her daughter low to the ground.

     Trunks squealed with delight as Bulma mimicked the group leader’s movements.  He curled his little arms and legs inward as Bulma brought him low to the ground and threw them out again as she brought him to eye level.  He waved at the crying baby to the right and cooed at the shy toddler draped around her mother’s neck to the left. 

     “Alright now streeeettttcccchhhhhhhhhh !  Work those hips, mommies!  Give it allllll you got!!”  The leader proclaimed as she bent slightly backward and then smoothly and slowly pitched forward, bending forward at the waist, laying her baby gently down in the grass before righting herself, clapping her hands and jumping up and down, “Come on ladies!  Hop to it!”

     Bulma followed along with the instructor and gave several bunny hops.  She clapped her hands and whooped as Trunks stuffed his mouth his fist.  She lost herself in the beat of the music and reveled in the feeling of exercising her body. 

     “Allllllriigghhttt mommies time to cooooooolllll down on this hot day!  Whew!”  The instructor said, the sound of her voice tainted by the smile on her cherry red lips.  “March it out slow!  That’s right!  Say Hello to your neighbor if you haven’t already!”

     “Hi!”  Bulma said as she waved to the lady closest to her in a carefree, extroverted kind of way.

     The woman gave a faint, half-hearted smile.  She curled up the side of her mouth and scooped her baby out of the grass.  She walked away and moved to the back of the group, resuming her cool down routine behind a small cluster of moms, whose eyes shifted from Bulma to Trunks to each other in a way that clearly communicated their disdain. 

     Bulma steeled herself up inside as the instructor chirped again, “Don’t forget, Mommies – Daddies day is next Wednesday! Be sure to tell daddies all about our adventures in the park!  Tell them to step out of that office!  Include them in your Wednesday plans for a rough and tumble time getting family fit in the park!”

     Bulma swallowed the lump in her throat.  She cupped her right hand over her left and rubbed her ring finger as a cold, black feeling stirred in her dimming heart.  “Come on, Baby.”  She said with a kind of sad surrender, “I think it’s time for that picnic I packed for us.” 

     Bulma planted Trunks on one hip and his blanket and picnic basket on the other.  She walked around the other women in the exercise group and pretended not to hear the whispers and the giggles and the bits and pieces of snide remarks.  She walked past the men leaning against their cars with their arms crossed tightly across their chests as they waited for their wives to finish their class.  She made her way up a high grassy knob and spread the blanket back down on the ground.  She tossed the picnic basket to the upper left corner of the blanket, using it as an anchor against the wind and carefully lowered herself to the center, cradling baby Trunks in one arm as she unpacked the food.  “Let’s see what we’ve got for yummies today . . . carrots, mixed vegetables oh yum yum, a protein shake for mommy . . . “

     Baby Trunks slapped his hands down on Bulma’s breast.  He squeezed with his pudgy little hands and smacked his lips, his velvety lavender eyes so wide and clear glittering with innocent joy. 

     “Huh?  You want . . . oh but, I forgot my cover!” Bulma exclaimed as she looked in the basket for an extra cloth or jacket that she could use as a drape.  “Oh . . . well . . . we are kind of up here by ourselves I guess. It shouldn’t matter if I’m a little . . . exposed.”  She said as she turned and looked all around before slipping her breast from the neck of her tank top and letting Trunks latch on.  She blushed slightly as she felt the sunlight dance warm across her newly exposed skin, holding Trunks a little closer each time she noticed the sound of a male voice wafting up from the park below.  And as Trunks balled his little fists and drifted off into a milk-drunk sleep, Bulma’s mind wandered to the sound of _his_ voice, his odd accent, his brusque way of speaking, the way he seemed to growl his words even when only breathing a hoarse whisper into her ear.  “Oh Trunks, mommy never meant for things to be this way . . . “ she said with a kind of quiet sadness, “Not that I think life with your father would be that much better.” Bulma said as her eyes flitted over the couples in the park below the grassy knob, “It’s just . . . I do wonder . . . sometimes . . . would he hold you?  Would he take you to the park, spend time with you, teach you all about how to be a Saiyan?  I don’t want to say that Nana is right, but . . . sometimes, just sometimes . . . I do kind of miss him.”  She said as she stroked the Baby’s soft, round cheek, “He was pain in the ass, but he was amazing.  And I know he would be proud of you.”  She said as she rocked back and forth to coax Trunks into deep sleep.

     Baby Trunks opened his mouth and let go of Bulma’s nipple.  He pushed his tongue between his pouty baby lips and made a sucking motion as he nursed in his sleep. 

     “It’s ok if you take a little nappy nap.”  She said as she patted him on the bottom, “We can reschedule our picnic lat—“

     “Look up there!  What is that?!”  shouted a voice from the park.

     “Is that a skybus?”

     “Something from that damned Capsule Corp no doubt!  Does anyone have a binoculars capsule???”

     “That’s no skybus!  That’s a ship!!!”

     Bulma stuffed her breast back in her shirt and turned her attention to a yellow-red streak that was slowly streaming across the sky, a billowing black cloud clustering in front of it, its trajectory on target for the for a collision with none other than Capsule Corp. 


	20. Confrontation!  Vegeta returns to the house at Capsule Corp!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vegeta returns to Capsule Corp after his excursion into space, but what will he think of Baby Trunks? 
> 
>  
> 
> \------------------------------------------------------------

    “Mom??  Mom?!”  Bulma called as she ran into the kitchen with the car seat hooked around her elbow with baby Trunks still sleeping inside, “Mom?  Dad? I think it’s him!” 

     “It’s him, what?”  Pansy said as the silverwear in the drainer and the dishes in the cabinet began to shake.   

      “The Capsule Corp space pod.”  Dr Briefs mumbled to himself as the vibration that rippled through the house came up to a steady buzz, “Oh my, its coming in hot!”

     “Dad did you install the auto-docking function I developed?”

     “The what?  I can’t hear you!”

     “The AUTO DOCKING—UGH!”  Bulma said as she braced herself against the kitchen counter, deafened by the roar of the space pod as it grazed the backyard and made impact with the ground.  She squeezed her eyes shut and gritted her teeth as the sound of metal meeting soil growled through all the little pictures and figurines her mother kept along the walls, opening them only as the last of the sand and grit rained down on the ball-like craft outside.  “Shit.  Shit, it is him!”  Bulma said to herself as Trunks began to cry.  “I don’t . . . oh my Kami it really is him.”

     “Here, let me take the baby.  You go out and talk to him.”  Pansy said as she unbuckled trunks from his car seat.

     “No.  No I don’t have anything to say!”  Bulma said as she quickly tucked her hands under Trunks’ arms and lifted him out of the seat.  “Let him come in if he wants to but . . . I’m not ready to speak to him yet.”

     “Not ready??  He just came back from space!  Just how long do you think you could keep the baby a secret?!”  Pansy said as she planted her knuckles into her hips. 

     “Mom I’m not getting into this right now!  I just don’t want to talk to him today, ok?!” She said as she headed towards the kitchen door.

      “Not getting into—where do you think you’re going?!”

     “To my room!”

     “To your room?!”  She said as the airlock to the space pod hissed open just beyond the kitchen window.  “Are you gonna have your own mother sit out here and explain it all to him?  Are you that big of a coward?!”

     “Mom the baby’s upset!  For Kami’s sake just let me take him some place quiet and calm him down!”

     Pansy Briefs crossed her arms and glared.  “Huh.  You spend all this time making a name for yourself as a scientist, being a strong, independent woman . . . and as soon as he crawls out of space, you squeal and run to your room like a 14 year old.  Nice job.”

     “Oh Pansy, take it easy on the girl.”  Dr. Briefs said as he lit another cigarette.

     “She is NOT a girl, anymore!  That’s the point!”  Pansy said as she thrust her face towards her husband, “That is not my mess out there to confront, and it is NOT my job to—“

                 THUMP THUMP THUMP

         “L’THa TWU BA’WHE?!”

     Pansy, Bulma and Dr. Briefs paused and looked at each other, wide-eyed and pale, standing silent and still as Trunks wailed with his balled fists waggling in the air.

     [[[T H U M P T H U M P T H U M P]]]

                      “WHERE IS MY MATE?!?!”

     “Oh Kami.”  Pansy whispered.

     “Mom maybe you should take the baby.  Let me and Dad take care of this.”

     [[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[T     H     U   M  P      *   T     H    U   M   P *  T    H   U    M   P   ]]]]]]]]]]]]

          With the final wrap of his knuckles, the metal, industrial door to the Capsule Corp living quarters bent to Vegeta’s strength and became disjointed from its hinges.  “Get to the back of the house, both of you!”  Dr. Briefs spat out as the two women quickly left the room. 

     Vegeta grabbed the door by its edge and flung it into the backyard next to the space pod.  He marched forward into the house, looking past Dr. Briefs as if he were a non-entity, searching the room with his eyes as if he were still wearing a scouter. 

     “Now listen Mr. Vegeta, this is my house, and I would like to politely ask you to---“

     “I have no quarrel with you, human.  I’ve returned your vessel in useable condition and the door can be replaced.  It’s your daughter that I wish to have words with.”

     “Well she doesn’t wish to have words with you.”  He said to Vegeta’s back as he passed into the hall way towards the kitchen.  “Hey!  HEY!  You can’t go in there!”

     “Where is she??  WHERE IS MY CHILD?!”  Vegeta roared as Bulma and her mother held each other in the nursery with Trunks in between.  “YOU THOUGHT YOU WOULD KEEP THIS A SECRET FROM ME?!  MY OWN CHILD???”  He screamed as he kicked open the door to Bulma’s room.

     Bulma gave a hard flinch.  She looked to her mother and to her strangely quieted child, then slowly stood up from the bed and readied herself. 

     THUMP THUMP THUMP

     “Open the door, Bulma!”  Vegeta snorted, “I WANT TO SEE MY CHILD!!”

     “Mom, let me have the baby.”

     “Bulma no—we can slip out the back!  We don’t have to confront him when he’s acting like thi—“

     “Just a moment, Vegeta.”  Bulma called as she wrapped her hands around Trunks and seated him on her hip.  “Open the door, mother.”

     “Bulma, you can’t—“

     “Open it.  I’m ready.”

     THUMP THUMP THUMP      

     “OPEN THIS DOOR BEFORE I FORCE IT DOWN!!!!!!!!!”

     Pansy wrapped her fingers tight around the hem of her skirt.  She willed herself to wipe all the fear from her face and stood up from the bench.  She opened the door and followed it back to the wall, allowing Vegeta to lay his eyes unobstructed upon his mate and their child for the first time. 

     “What is this?”  He said to himself as his eyes met his son’s intense stare, his sharp brow so distinctively Saiyan, his distinctive scowl painted in purple, light lavender eyes so calm yet so threatening, the third in the line of Vegeta.  Cautiously, the Saiyan prince stalked forward into the room, eyes touching upon the Bulma’s softer, rounder hips and breasts, her straightened hair, her deep blue eyes, how full of resolve they seemed as she held the baby a little tighter upon his approach.  She took on a defensive stance as Vegeta reached out his hand . . . and gently pulled the cat-eared cap back from the boy’s head to examine his hairline.  “Move your arm.”  He said, “Drop it.”

     “I’m not dropping my baby even if he is a Saiyan!”

     “Then lay him down.”

     “Why?”  Bulma snapped.

     Vegeta raised his brow.  He crossed his arms as Bulma gently laid the baby down in the crib on his back. 

     “Turn him over.”

     Bulma gave her once fuck-boy a daring stare.  She gently turned Trunks to his stomach and Vegeta quickly pushed his shoulder into hers, knocking her out of the way as he hooked his gloved finger between the baby’s diaper and his back.  He felt an electric jolt run through his body as he laid eyes on the purple stump at the base of the baby’s spine, then quickly covered it again with his shirt.  “Who did this?”

     “Who did what?”

     “YOU KNOW DAMN WELL WHAT I’M TALKING ABOUT SO DON’T FUCK WITH ME, HUMAN WHORE!  WHO DID THIS TO MY SON?!”

     “If you’re talking about the tail . . . Piccolo did it.”

     “Pi-piccolo” Vegeta, his voice losing power as his mouth felt over the name in disbelief,  “ . . . You let . . . that dickless Namekian slime . . . TOUCH MY SON?!?!?”  He said as he thrust his chest forward into her, pushing her towards the wall.  “YOU LET . . . THAT PERVERTED, SHIT-EATING MAGGOT  . . . TOUCH MY SON WITH HIS BARE HANDS . . . AND ROB HIM OF HIS SAIYAN HERITAGE!!!!!!!”

     “Vegeta stop!  Stop this!” Bulma said as he stepped close enough to strike out and reach his fist through the wall, “STOP IT OR I WILL CALL GOKU!!!”

     Vegeta twisted his fist until the drywall began to crumble around it.  “You still think . . . he’s better than me.”  He growled through his teeth, “You bear my child out of wedlock . . . threaten me with his power . . . What else, Bulma?!  What else would you do to humiliate me?!“

     “I had your child out of wedlock, Vegeta . . . because you didn’t stick around!”  She said, giving his arm a good shove at the pit of his elbow until it collapsed away from the wall, “So don’t blame me if he missed out on some sort of Saiyan birthright just because you threw a temper tantrum and flew out into space on a soul-searching mission!!”

     Bulma moved past the seething Vegeta and leaned over the crib to pick up Trunks.  She held him to her breast and gently smiled down to him while Vegeta gnashed his teeth and clenched his fists so hard that his knuckled popped out of his gloves.  “Why? Why didn’t you tell me?!  You had to have known . . . that’s why you started spending so much time by yourself!  THAT’S WHY YOU HID YOURSELF FROM ME!!”  He spat out as Bulma moved past him, “YOU HID YOURSELF FROM ME BECAUSE YOU COULDN’T FACE THE TRUTH!!”

     “I wasn’t ready to tell you!”

     “Wasn’t ready to tell me . . . because you were planning on ridding yourself of it, weren’t you?!”

      Bulma felt her heart drop to her feet.  She hugged trunks a little tighter into her waist and whispered, “Don’t be ridiculous.”

     “RIDICULOUS?!  WHY ELSE DID YOU SHUT YOURSELF IN, SURROUND YOURSELF WITH MACHINES. . .  BECAUSE *YOU* WERE GOING TO USE ONE OF THEM TO ERASE YOUR MISTAKE!!”  he said as he quickly moved to her side, “WELL WHY DIDN’T YOU, BULMA?!  WHY DIDN’T YOU RID YOURSELF OF IT WHILE YOU HAD THE CHANCE???”

     “I don’t have to answer that.  I don’t answer to you.”  She said as Trunks’ bottom lip began to quiver.

       Vegeta assumed his typical battle stance.  His eyes flashed, the spikes of his hair waved as the force of his Ki began to circulate furiously around him. He lifted his arm and pointed his finger in her direction, “I renounce you.”  He said, his voice dripping with venomous hate.  “I renounce you and that bastard child of yours!  I renounce you and this bastard human family of yours!!!”  He said, raising his voice as Bulma cooly walked out of the room, “I RENOUNCE YOU AND THIS PLANET, EVERYTHING! EVERYTHING ABOUT IT!! I WILL HAVE NO PART OF IT!” 

     “You think I care about your royal acknowledgement?”  Bulma mumbled as she quickly dashed away the cold tear streaming down her cheek, holding the baby a little higher on her shoulder as she walked further down the hallway. 

     “DON’T WALK AWAY FROM ME WOMAN!  LET IT BE KNOWN TO EVERYONE THAT THEIR ASSUMPTIONS ABOUT YOU WERE RIGHT—YOU ARE NOTHING BUT AN EARTH WHORE AND I. RENOUNCE. YOU!!” 

     “Now look,”  Dr. Briefs said as he cautiously as Vegeta followed Bulma into the living room, “This is my house, and again I must politely ask you to leave.  You’ve destroyed my personal property and stolen a space vessel, you insult my daughter and my grandchild. This has gone far enough!”  He said as he positioned himself between the quarreling couple, “Now I understand you have no means, but the money you gave to me previously was of a considerable sum, and I am willing to use that money to pay for an apartment for you on the far side of town, but you must leave peaceably and without further incident, do you understand?”

     Vegeta did not answer.  His stare burned into Bulma just as her words had burned into his heart.

     “Leave.  Or we will call Son and the other Z fighters.  If you have any belongings in the space pod, go and grab them now.”

     Vegeta turned his head towards Dr. Briefs and relaxed his fists.  He moved to the broken frame of the front door and paused, looking over his shoulder one last time at the baby in his once-love’s arms.  He had only time enough to watch his son’s eyes well up with tears before bounding away, through the skies towards the badlands.  


	21. The Sage of Future Trunks: The tide begins to turn!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trunks is living in a bleak and soul crushing future, but his mother is harboring a secret weapon that may spell the end of the Androids for good! Will Trunks become the hero of time and return to the past to enlist Goku's help? or will despair over the loss of Gohan keep Trunks from meeting his fate?
> 
> \-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
> You know how its kind of awkward and embarrassing to go back to the gym after you haven't been there in like a super long time, and you know you SHOULD have been going but like, you got caught up with life stuff and you just couldn't get back in the saddle to save your life, but the desire was still there, and you begin to realize how much exercise actually adds to your life and helps anchor you to the ground and gives you some sense of equilibrium to deal with all the other difficult life stuff that crops up on the side in addition to the life stuff that threw you off track to begin with? 
> 
> Well it's kind of like that :D Enjoy my awkwardness lol  
> \------------------

 

_The Saga of Future Trunks:  The Tide Begins to Turn!_

 

_*********_

 

_“You knew my father.  What was he like?”_

    

     Trunks swept his hand under his bangs, his palm brushing over the dry ridges of bandages wrapping around his forehead.  He sat silently hunched over his meager plate of food as his mother flitted about the kitchen.  He raised his silverware each time she turned her face to flash a weak smile, faintly returning the expression before lowering the spoonful of gruel back down to the bowl, his desire to eat cut short by a secret, black kind of sorrow that had burrowed deep into his heart after the death of Gohan . . . Gohan, son of Goku, Sensei, half human, half Saiyan, same blood mix, and yet . . .

     Trunks swallowed the spit in his empty mouth.  He pushed the grey, scentless blob around in the bowl, oat flakes like the shelves of upturned concrete outside, the soup in between like blood and sewage, the ruins meant for a much larger population than the Androids could tolerate alive.  In his mind Trunks could see the cold blue of their eyes, as blue as he imagined the sky once to be, as it was in old picture books, as it was when Gohan would cheerfully reminisce about the days when their fathers were enemies, when it was Goku that wore the Gi of brilliant orange, and Trunk’s father wore the Saiyan armor traditional to his people, in the blazing color of-- _“You knew my father, what was he like?”_

     But the answer was always hidden behind the smile.  The polite, faint smile.  The smile that his mother worse so well, that buffed over the blight of hard times, the smile that hid the pain of trying to make gruel appetizing, the smile that didn’t want to tell the whole truth, that promised the full story someday, after training, after the Androids were gone, after the human race began to flourish again, an after that seemed less and less likely to come after each new gleeful orgy of destruction from the Androids.  And each time he envisioned his sensei’s serene smile, Trunks imagined himself holding that serenity in his hands.  He imagined looking deep into his Master’s flat, black, pupil-less eyes and gently brushing his thumb over his sharply prominent eyebrows, the last of their race, two men, a deep, unbreakable kinship.  How often had he fantasized about catching his master’s words of wisdom with his lips, to seek out his voice with a brother tongue, neither one of which had ever known a single word of their native language, two Saiyan warriors, energy rising until both were set aflame.  

    Trunks let his spoon drop to his bowl.  He buried his face in both palms and took a deep breath through his nose, then tilted his face upwards until his fingertips just barely covered his eyes.  He braced himself for his mother’s admonishment, and opened his eyes when that admonishment never came.  The kitchen was empty.  The food was cold.  The house seemed still and dead.  “Stupid.”  Trunks muttered to himself as he picked at the corner of the self-stick bandage on his head until it began to peel and unravel, “Just sitting here being stupid when I should be training.” He said, coiling the bandage around in a circle on the table beneath his face. He winced as the bottom layer pulled the scab from the wound on his head.  He touched its bumpy, tender edge and remembered the sickening sensation of being hit full in the face by an energy wave generated by #17, how that same energy had seared off the arm of his beloved Master Gohan, how easily that power had penetrated even his highest projection of Saiyan power.  The black sorrow in his heart plunged sharply down into itself, roiling deep and dark until it ripened into bleak, absolute despair.  Trunks’ chest tightened.  He slowly stood up from his chair and marveled at how weightless his arms and legs felt, how it seemed like he was drifting through his home like a ghost instead of walking through it like a man. But it was hard to be a man with his Master gone, he and his mother all alone in what was left of Capsule Corp, his father a ghost long before he was dead and gone.  He came to a picture in his room that his mother had kept for him of the proud Prince Vegeta, and felt his despair harden like a shell—the glass was cracked, the picture inside dusty and faded, and the man inside was not his father.  He was short instead of tall, black hair that stood up in spikes instead of flat falls of lavender, arms crossed in on themselves, a scowl on his face that made him look like a real punk, like someone not yet humbled by the inhuman power of Dr. Gero’s perfect creations. Trunks lifted the picture and ran his hand over the bump in the wall, the bump that the picture had always sat in front of.  It had always been there, even in happier days before their home had been hit by the Androids.  Had his mother been too lazy to repair an otherwise perfectly smooth wall?  Was it her way of remembering where the picture belonged?  How many times had he moved the picture out of the way just to touch the blemish, reaching beyond the picture, lost in thought of what his father was really like, not the cartoonish figure in the photo, the real bastard who destroyed what was once South City when he first arrived on earth, the bastard who had challenged the pure, righteous goodness of Gohan’s father, the bastard who had taken advantage of his mother and moved on, as if the birth of a son of his own rare blood was nothing more than a meaningless trifle.  Ambiguous, ugly and not much larger than a fist, Trunks touched the spot again, and then began to notice . . .  a sound. 

     Trunks grabbed his scabbard and sword.   He moved silently through the hallways of his boyhood home and easily brought a flush of Saiyan power through his veins to become Super Saiyan.  His heart began to race as he followed the sound through the living room, towards the old Capsule Corp factory floor.  Though it were still, the clamor echoing from far beyond the dormant machines was distinct and familiar:  Metal meeting metal in hammered strikes, the quick whirr of the drill, the pop and zap of electricity.  Trunks stealthily ran over the open floor, being careful not to let his footsteps make too much noise for fear of losing the trail of sound.  He followed faint rhythms and muffled crashes to a small set of stairs that led down beneath the Capsule Corp laboratory of old.  He followed a long, dark hallway with his light-sensitive eyes to a heavy metal door that was not quite all the way shut.  He wedged his sword inside the slit between the door and the frame and pried it open slightly, gasping as he took in the sight of great hanger full of old Capsule Corp flying machines—an airship, a helicopter, several motorcycles and cars.  In the center of the room under a cluster of bright floodlights, his mother was crouching, a pneumatic drill in her hand as she bolted something to the side of a great, yellow, bug-like machine with a glass bubble top and four or five pointy legs forming a base.  Trunks pushed the door the rest of the way open.  He approached the machine with his eyes wide and his mouth open.  “Mom” Trunks half whispered to himself as he stepped into the bright light of the hanger, “What is this?”

     “This . . . is my way of being a warrior, son.”  Bulma said as she used the pneumatic drill to bolt a piece of sheet metal over the access panel on the side of the mysterious vessel, “a little something I was experimenting with when your father and I first met and I just . . . decided to pull it out and work on it again.”

     “It’s amazing.  I can’t believe you built all this.”  Trunks repeated as his eyes danced over the elegant curves of the machine before him, “What is it?”

     “It’s a time machine.”

      “It’s a what?!”

     “A time machine.  Something that I believe we may be able to use to send you back in time.”

     “Back in time?  Me?!”

     “It would be a little complicated if I were to go back myself.  Adult me meeting young adult me would not be a good scene, however . . . sending you back in time, to a particular point in time, wouldn’t pose much of a threat at all *IF* you can keep your true identity to yourself.”  Bulma replied as she tested the strength of the bolts over the instrument panel by picking at it with the tips of her fingers.  “What do you say, you think that’s something you could do?”

     “Mom how could you just . . . I mean, why on earth would you ever stop work on something like this?”

     “For the same reason I invented it.  You.  I umm, invented it shortly after I became pregnant and I . . . “  She said as memories of hiding a positive pregnancy test in her lab coat pocket sprang up in her mind, “I stopped work on it to become a mom.”

     “Mom this is . . . this is amazing! I mean, I always heard you had a talent for inventing things but . . . I’ve just never seen you work on something like this before!  Where did you get the material?  When did you put it all together?”

     “Well, while you and Gohan were out training, I was out scavenging.  There’s only a handful of people left alive in this city, so all this junk laying around is anyone’s game.”  Bulma said as she gave the machine a pat, “The old power plants don’t really need all that uranium anymore, and we don’t want that to leak out into our last remaining water supplies, so . . . I engaged in some creative upcylcling and trained my engineering brain to perfect the technology and design while you boys trained to perfect your fighting techniques.”

    “Does it work?”

     “Yep.  It works.  At least in my projections it does.”  Bulma said as she stood and approached Trunks, placing her hand on her son’s shoulder, “It’s not without risk, and I think that if I can get you to just this one particular point in time that we may have a chance.  I don’t want you to take this the wrong way son, but it seems to me that if neither you or Gohan were able to overpower even one of the Androids, then perhaps the answer isn’t in using brute force alone.  Maybe it’s time we swallow our pride and look beyond what we are capable of doing, and look to a different kind of hero.”

     “A different kind of hero?  What do you mean?”

     “I want you to go back in time . . . and speak with Goku.”  She said, his name choking in her throat as if she could barely speak it, “I will set your date, time and physical coordinates close to a time where Goku reappeared after a long absence.  You should be able to warn him about the Androids without saying too much about yourself AND—“  She said as she suddenly turned to open her desk drawers, “Give him this.”  Bulma said as she grabbed a small hard-shelled case from a box in the top compartment of her workbench, “It’s the antidote for Goku’s heart virus—I pulled it from the old hospital while the refrigeration units were still intact.  Warn him of the Android’s arrival, give him the date, time and location of the first sighting of #17 and #18, and then warn him of his upcoming illness, and we might just have a chance at eliminating the Androids before they even become a threat.”

     Trunks took the hardshell wallet from his mother, and from out from under his heavy, black sorrow, the thinnest golden thread of hope began to take root.  “Goku . . . Gohan’s dad, huh?  Do you really think he could make a difference?”

     “I know that he can.  But it’s not just how strong he is, Trunks.  When you’re with him, you just know everything’s going to be fine.  He was just one of those people that you could feel confident in, at ease . . . “  Bulma said as she turned to the monitor on her desk to examine the flight plan, “And maybe after so many years of being hunted, beaten and destroyed by the Androids, that’s just what we need.  Somebody who knows what it feels like to be ok.  Somebody who remembers what it feels like to be strong.  A hero.”

     “Yeah.”  Trunks muttered as he briefly visualized the black tendrils of sorrow wrapping themselves around his heart at the words _hero_ and _strong_.  “Who knows, maybe I’ll get to meet my dad and see what he’s like.”

     “Hmm, well . . . I wouldn’t expect too much of your father, dear.”  Bulma replied cooly, “So.  Tomorrow?”

     “Tomorrow.”  Trunks replied, “I want to do this.”

     Bulma looked to her son and felt her heart swell up with pride.  She glanced at the flank of the machine and narrowed her eyes.  “It needs something.”  She said as slid off of her workbench stool and approached one of the many bright yellow legs of the machine.  From her breastpocket she produced a small golden tube that twisted at the end, and instead of it producing a screwdriver or some other tool, it produced a deep red shade of lipstick that she used to write the word _HOPE_.

     Trunks gave a little laugh, “I’ve never seen you wear lipstick before.”

     “There’s a lot of stuff you’d be surprised to know about me, son, the old me anyways.”  She said as she tucked the lipstick back in her pocket.  “There was a time I wouldn’t have been caught dead without it.  I guess if all this works tomorrow, you’ll see.”

     Trunks looked up to the cockpit.  A feeling emerged from the pit of his stomach as elusive as the sounds he had followed to find his mother’s secret laboratory and as foreign as the notion of Gohan’s father—a feeling written in crimson wax on the side of machine, a feeling that had always felt so untrue and antagonistic before which now filled his belly with something refreshingly genuine and unbreakable:  _Hope_


	22. Through Space and Time! - the saga of Trunks continues !

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trunks returns to his own time, but does he have more to worry about than the Androids?

Through Space and Time - the saga of Trunks continues!

 

 

_If you really are Saiyan, then I shouldn’t be such an unusual sight_

_Instant Teleportation!  It’s a new technique I learned from the Yardratians !_

_If you really are Saiyan_

_What are you staring at boy?_

_No Kiddin!  Vegeta’s gonna be a daddy!!_

_If you really are Saiyan_

_By the way, that’s a nice sword.  It sliced through Frieza’s body like butter.  May I see it?_

_He bothers me_

_What do you mean you can’t tell us?  Who are you?  How did you get such power?_

 

 

_Who are you?_

Trunks pried his eyes open to a slit.  The time machine rifled through the folds of time and space like a quickly shuffling deck with deafening sound and violence.  _Who are you_?  Repeated a voice that sounded kind and young, _Who are you_?  Repeated a voice that sounded childlike and indifferent, filling Trunks instantly with a sense that he was nothing more than a trifle to the being speaking it.  Suddenly it seemed that the folds of space were in danger of collapsing.  Suddenly it seemed as if he did not find the right space in between those folds, the heaviness of space would crush the time machine and the androids would have won.  Trunks lashed out in a sudden fit of claustrophobia.  He cut through the apparitions in the cabin, hitting a random set of switches and buttons.  The sense that all was truly lost began to overwhelm as the machine spiraled out of control.  Hope, no hope . . . no hope to return, if only one tiny slat of time were kind enough, if only one tiny sliver were not so foreign from life as he used to know it, he could live still, alone, alienated, the sole survivor of the end, same life he’d always known.  The last Saiyan.   _Half Breed Welp_.  Trunks swallowed the spit in his mouth and tried to find his center.  Through the slit of his barely opened eyes, he managed to see a being – Blue, small, football shaped head, an aquamarine stripe, ceremonial dress, a smile on its face that could have just as easily have asked him to die as it would to play.  _You shouldn’t be here.  Your mother has commited a great sin_. Said the other, more kindly voice, a more humanoid appearance, lavender skin, broad dark eyes, a bright white mohawk. 

     _I had to.  For Goku!!!_

     Trunks gritted his teeth as the time machine reached its maximum speed.  He felt his head begin to swim, and just as the rush of blood and chi flooded into his brain like a tsunami, the Grand Zeno raised his tiny hand . . . and Trunks watched . . . as a green and silver ring appeared on his finger.

 

                                                                                        ***

 

 Trunks gasped, the thin barrier of set time snapping open at the separation of his lips.  The moisture just beneath his skin suddenly oozed through his pores and beaded out all over his body and tears streamed from his eyes in thick, viscous streams that streaked the length of his face down to the neck.   The time machine rattled violently as the landing thrusters pushed out from underneath.  Trunks blinked, the tears cleared his lashes, his eyes fell upon the answer to all the desperate, silent pleas made to the Kais during his journey through time:  his mother running forth from Capsule Corp in her lab coat. 

     Bulma stumbled as she ran through the charred grass.  She cried out his name and felt her heart swell with pride and relief as the machine landed on four pointed legs in what used to be her mother’s garden.  The bubble dome opened, and Trunks tilted his head back to take a breath, but instead of being greeted by the fresh, sweet air he had become accustomed to in the short period of time he had traveled back to Goku’s time, his nostrils were filled with the scent of burning oil and empty chemical death, the atmosphere all around dry, stale, and suffocating.  In the far distance, an evergreen colored plume of vapor arose to the atmosphere from the broken remnants of the nearby ammonia plant.  It leaked out all its toxins in a kind of reverse waterfall, poisoning the sky, pouring a dark slow sludge upwards that grew darker in its menacing churn, and although his mother called his name several times from the foot of the ladder, Trunks’ eyes and mind were so absorbed by the sight that he found himself completely unable to answer.  He put his palm to his forehead and brushed his hair back.  He forced his breath out of his nostrils and closed his eyes.  He felt around for the ladder and climbed his way down, and after embracing his anxious mother in a sincere and reassuring hug, he looked into her eyes, then searched all the fine wrinkles all over her face and asked, “How long?”

     “Long?”

    “How long was I gone?”   

     “Oh, that.”  Bulma said with a dismissive swipe of her hand, “You weren’t gone that long son, barely the blink of an eye!  You were gone just long enough to—“

     “Mom,” Trunks said as he wrapped his hands firmly around his mother’s biceps, “How long was I gone from your time?”

     Bulma’s smile spread kind, soft and sad across her aged face.  She slid her hands neatly into the crooks of his elbows and replied in a quiet, certain voice, “Ten years.”

     “Ten yea—mom!  Oh no!  Oh Mom I’m so sorry!”  He said as he pulled his mother to his chest and held her close, his thoughts flying to the worst of every battle he ever had to face with the androids, the pain, the anguish, the relentless hunt, “Mom I never meant to leave you alone!!“

      “Trunks it’s ok honey, it’s ok.  You’re here!  You made it!  You made it honey, we’re here together now, that’s all that matters to me!”  She said as she wiped the tears from his face with the ball of her thumb, “Did you see it?  Did you go to the past?”

     Trunks quickly sniffled.  He steeled himself up inside and stood tall.  “I . . . I saw Goku.  I gave him the antidote just like you said.  And I saw you, Mother . . . and you were wearing red lipstick!”  He said with a laugh that was quickly doused by the quiver of his lower lip and a loud, embarrassing choke of his voice.

     “Ha I told you things were different for me back then! Is it really so hard to believe NOW?  That your mother would even own such a thing as lipstick?”

     “No, no . . . not hard to believe.  You were beautiful.”  Trunks said with his smile bravely returning, “And mom . . . mom I . . . I saw my father.”

     “Your father?!”  Bulma repeated, her enthusiasm sounding very forced and faded, “That must have been quite the experience for you.  What did you think?  Of him, I mean.  What did you think of him?”

     Trunks shook his head slightly as his mother took his hands into hers, “He looked so strong and proud and lonely . . . exactly like you’ve always described him.  I had no idea,” Trunks said with a sniffle, “I had no idea he was so, so powerful, it was almost overwhelming to be in his presence, or in Goku’s presence for that matter.  I . . . I had no idea what it really meant . . . to be a full blooded Saiyan.  I just assumed . . . they were humans just like us . . . like you . . . like most of me, I—everything, my whole perspective, it’s just . . . changed. I get it now.  Everything Gohan tried to teach me about being a Saiyan that I didn’t grasp I . . . I get it now.  But mom . . . mom look at this place where we are, it . . . it hasn’t changed. It hasn’t changed a bit since I left in the time machine, if anything, it’s worse!” 

     “But you gave Goku the antidote?”

     “Yes.”

     “Then . . . then we’ve done all we can do, Trunks.  It’s over.  We did our best, and no one is to blame if it didn’t work out the way we thought it would.  Maybe things will be better in another timeline maybe, we’ve helped make a difference for someone else in some other dimension.  All is not lost, son.”  Bulma said as she slipped her hand into his.  “I found some Jasmine tea that I’ve been saving for you--fresh water too!  Come inside and let your old mother make her time traveling son a cup of tea.”

     “Mom I . . . I just, I can’t . . . I can’t get over . . . why are we focusing on tea when the whole world is coming to an end?!”

     “Is it coming to an end now?  This minute?”  Bulma said, “I’ve survived out here for ten years with barely a word exchanged with another human being, if you ask me, this is the brightest, most beautiful day I’ve had in a long, long time and if it ended now, why, it certainly ended on a happy note for me!” She said as the ammonia cloud behind her spread out over sky in roiling, bile-colored plumes.  “My Trunks, my son, purple hair and all!  Come inside, let’s have a cup of tea before it all goes to shit!”

        

                                                                                             ***

“Nothing I did made a difference.  Nothing.”  Trunks repeated to himself under his breath as his mother put away the dishes.  “Nothing.  Nothing I did.  Nothing, nothing made a difference.”  He said as he squeezed his eyes shut, immediately recalling the vivid, colorful site of the childlike being in ceremonial garb, its tiny, apathetic smile, the ring on its finger, _your mother has committed a great sin_.  “Mom have you . . . has anything else been destroying this world since I’ve been gone, aside from The Androids?  Any new beings or any other threat that I should know about?”

     Bulma shook her head, “No dear just the androids, really.  There was a small group of children who fought against them in the most rascally way while you were gone,” She said with a smile as she swirled a stained rag around the chipped mug in her hand, “but . . . haven’t seen much of them in . . . you know, The Androids moved on to a different continent for a few years and times weren’t quite so bad then.  Gave the few of us left some time to breathe, to hunt and forage for food items in peace.  There was a time that I was able to engineer a few instant bunkers from Capsule technology, even had a few capsules dedicated to instant foodstuffs but. . . when The Androids came back, I think they could maybe sense the budding human life and . . . they eradicated all the bunkers they could find.”

     “But you survived.”  Trunks said.

     “Yes.  I umm . . . I had a little something to look forward to, to keep me going.”  Bulma said as she sat down next to her son. 

     “When I left in the time machine, did you have any odd visitors?  Did anything follow me through or . . . did anything odd appear after I left?”

     “No, son.  You left, and that was that.”

     “Except . . . then there was no one left to stand up to them, really.”

     “No one with Saiyan strength.”  Bulma said as she swirled the last bit of cold tea around in her teacup.  “Things end, son.  Everything ends. We humans were never that careful with the gifts that we had been given.  I have cherished my memories of this planet just as much as I have grieved for it, my only regret being that you could not have experienced the beauty and abundance and freedom that I enjoyed at your age, but then I look at you and think, here you are, the very embodiment of all that—so beautiful and strong.  The light that you carry . . . makes my thoughts not so dismal.” 

     “We humans? You talk about it as though I’m only just now not human.”  Trunks said with a faint smile.

     “You are what you are, and I never did you justice.”  Bulma said, a tinge of quiet regret coloring her words with grave seriousness, “there was so much strife and bad blood between your father and I after you were born . . . If you could pass as human then that’s all I wanted you to be, you know, grandson of Dr. Briefs that’s all anyone really needed to know.  You looked human, so you were close enough . . . close enough to pass and no one needed to know otherwise.  But . . . seeing you train with Gohan, I knew I had done such a grave misservice to you, brushing off your Saiyan side as if it were nothing.  Felt like I’d denied you of your ancestry, your heritage, your culture.  All those times I yelled at you for being too rambuncous or . . . disciplined you for your anger and rage . . . that was wrong of me, really it was.  You are what you are, and I am so sorry if I ever stunted the way you were meant to grow.”

     “You did your best, just like you always taught me to do.”  Trunks replied as his smile warmed up the cold space between them. 

     “It’s always a mother’s fear when the father is absent—am I suffocating him? Am I coddling him?  Am I raising him to be a man or . . . will he not know anything about it as he grows older?  Oh thank the Kais for Gohan, that he was here even for the short time that he lived.”  Bulma said as she stood up from the table and gathered both Trunks’ teacup and her own.

     “I saw my father.”  Trunks replied as his mother used a small tub of brackish water to rinse out the cups, “I want to know who he is, who he was.  Mom, I want to go back.”

     Bulma rubbed a dishcloth full of holes around the inside of her teacup.  “Go back.”  She repeated robotically, “Well it’s . . . that is something you can do . . . not like I’ve been resting on my laurels all these years.  I umm . . . I do have energy enough gathered to power the time machine for one more trip.”

     “You could come with me.”  Trunks said as he stood up from the table too, “Come back in time, live someplace safe and warm and plentiful, some place where you can see the sun again, and—”

     “No no no, Trunks, no . . . that is something I could not do.”  She said as she wiped out the other cup.

     “Mom you’re a sitting target here, if the Androids don’t kill you something el—this environment, this place, it surely will.  You could take the driver’s seat of the time machine and I could stand behind you.  You could live out in the wilderness of earth somewhere, away from all the fighting and death!  You could—”

     “Trunks, no.  That’s enough.”  She said, invoking her authority as a mother by the tone of her voice.  “Don’t ruin this brightest day for me.  If you feel you must go back, then go back.  You can’t spend your mental energy thinking of all the what ifs—look at me, look at this time we’re in, it’s nothing but a big ‘What if’, isn’t it?  There is another timeline out there where this is not my reality, and I’m not messing that up for just a few more years of stolen comfort.  Today is as good as it gets for me.”  She said as she rubbed her hand along his cheek, “But you . . . We can make it right.  Go back, reclaim your time.  Be a Saiyan.  Be your father’s child.”

     “There’s nothing about me that’s like him, mom.”

     “He had a gentle side.  He would never show it to anyone, but I knew.”  She said, her eyes full of sparkle and the glimmer of hope, “And just as he kept his gentle side buried, it’s now time for you to live in the truth of your lineage . . . 

 

 

                                                          . . . _Go back, and be a Saiyan_.”   

 

 


	23. Slaughter in South City! The Saga of Future Trunks Continues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trunks returns to the past, but where is Son Goku and the Z fighters? Is he walking into a fight that he knows nothing about?
> 
> \--------------------------------------------
> 
> I really hate that I've slowed down as much as I have in contributing to this story, but I've had a lot going on this past year or so--I met someone, then I found another job, then when I went to quit my old job, my old job wouldn't let me quit, gave me a raise, gave me new responsibilities which included traveling alot, then I had problems with the guy I met, we broke up, made up, broke up, made up, I went to Kansas, to Phoenix, to Las Vegas, got deathly ill 3 times in less than 4 months, new job responsibilities had me writing for them professionally and they are now considering hiring me to oversee their training program, got a notice from my landlord that she was selling the house I was renting so I'm now in the process of BUYING a house, oh mylanta my life has never been so busy!! But I am determined to see this story through and lemme tell ya, despite whatever life throws at me, I'm rarely ever short on determination :) ! Enjoy !

Slaughter in South City

 

_Your mother has committed a terrible sin_

 

Trunks sailed through the sky towards South City, fists balled, sword on his back, Capsule Corp jacket open and fluttering in the currents of air that swoshed around his body as his speed increased.  Each time he closed his eyes, the lavender-skinned being appeared in his mind with its wide, heavily lined eyes, its childlike but serious face, its bright white tussled mohawk bristling in the cosmic winds of time as it repeated _your mother has committed a terrible sin_.  Trunks shook his head.  Beneath his jacket, he could feel his ribbed tank top wick the sweat away from his spine and ribs.  His stomach and limbs and head filled with a sickening mix of worry, anxiety and dread, but outside of his body, the world was as bright and colorful as though were newly made—the rocks of the badlands were red and tan, the rivers were blue and white, there were scores of green trees and rows of crops and man made buildings with gleaming accents of steel and glass, so much beauty that Trunks often found his eyes wandering, studying, envying those who lived in such a time, wishing he could have taken his mother, wishing Master Gohan had lived long enough to see the world of their time healed and restored to such pristine beauty.  It was then that the true sense of the word hope began to well up in his heart, it was then that the bitter nucleus of determination hardened in his heart--the battle he was about to face could _not_ be lost. 

     But as the peaks of the South City mountains appeared on the horizon, Trunks’ sense of dread began to rise.  He tilted his body upward, climbing higher into the sky until the body of water separating South City from the mainland grew less broad, up to where he could plainly see smoke rising from the ruins of battered buildings and fires still burning where a battle had taken place.  “I was too late.  I didn’t get here on time!”  Trunks said to himself as he paused above the water, _No sign of Goku’s friends or the Androids . . . what happened?! Where are they?!_

     Trunks closed his eyes and balled his fists.  He felt the darkness of his own time close in all around the blue sky and red rocks below, a stain the color of bile on a pallet of primary colors, creeping through the rivers of the earth like poison through the veins of a patient already unwittingly close to death.  But buried deep within this visualization was a feeling, a twinge, a pinch that pulled to the west.  Out of instinct, Trunks floated a little higher in the sky, still with his eyes closed so that he could rise above the vision of destruction in his mind and see it as only passing thoughts, only one possibility, only one vision of the future.  Battle chi—there was still time!

     Trunks dived down into the west wind, forcing his ki through his limbs to propel himself faster than he’d ever dared to fly in his time, turning a double helix through the swift air currents in effort to catch moment and go faster, faster.  A small yellow aircraft bobbed in his wake as he blasted forward into the badlands, where a large crater below held a vaguely human looking pile of smoking parts and buzzing, zapping wires.  Trunks alighted to the earth to investigate, brows furrowing as he crouched next to a chubby, disembodied head that was stuffed with wires.  “What is this?  What’s going on?”  he said as his eyes touched over what was quite obviously the head of an android.  But before the horror of the unknown could consume him, Trunks once again felt the call of battle chi.  He jumped up from the crater and bolted towards the target zone implied by his Saiyan instinct _.  That wasn’t one of the Androids I knew.  Were there three of them?!_

     An anguished male scream peeled through the air.  Two small bodies hovered in the sky above a life or death struggle.  All turned their heads towards the boy from the future as he zipped into the battle scene and startled at his sudden appearance.  “TRUNKS!” Piccolo blurted out, and Vegeta turned his head towards the teen in the Capsule Corp jacket.   For the first time ever in his life, Vegeta beheld his son, and Trunks’ eyes met those of his father—a deep, wonderous glance, Saiyan to half Saiyan, blood to blood, lasting only a fraction of a moment before Trunks caved to the power of his father’s terrible stare and ducked his eyes away, the glaring, pupil-less, aquamarine discs of his father’s glare burning in the blackness his mind momentarily before he opened his eyes again and set them squarely on the android below.  “Who—who is this?!  You were fighting him, weren’t you?”

     “What do you mean, WHO?!  He’s one of the Androids you told us about, of course!”  Vegeta spat out, his golden, spikey hair bristling with the cutting hiss of his words.

     “What’s going on?”  Trunks said with an unsure, nervous chortle, “These . . . these aren’t the Androids.”

     The brain of the mechanical man whirred and clicked.  His eyes dashed from father to son to Namekian before dancing over the rocks of the badlands.

     “If it’s not the right Android then what the devil is it?!”  Vegeta said as he pointed a damning finger towards the android. 

      Trunks opened his mouth to speak, but as he laid eyes once again on the gray, wrinkled skin of the Android below, his words caught in his throat.  The chubby head in the desert, the wrong time, the wrong place, everything different than what he had anticipated.  Had his initial journey back in time changed the world so much that his experience of the future was now completely useless?

     In the sky behind him, Trunks heard a buzz.  The little yellow aircraft that he had passed near South City had caught up and was passing overhead.  It paused and hovered just long enough for Trunks to see a little swatch of blue hair in the cabin, a white hand waving, glimmering blue eyes, and a bright, pretty smile swathed in red lipstick. 

     Krillin cleared his throat.  “Hey, isn’t that Bulma?!”

     Vegeta turned his face towards the Capsule Corp aircraft, his energy rippling at the sight of Yajirobe in the seat beside his once mate and the bastard son he had disowned.  He heard his teenage son frantically shouting and gesturing for the ship not to come any closer, but this stupid move only did exactly what he had expected it to do—trigger an escape by the android below.

     “I SPOKE THE TRUTH WHEN I SAID YOU HAD NO CHANCE!  NUMBERS 17 AND 18 WILL COME FOR YOU SOON!!!”

     The old android struck out his hand and let loose a powerful blast of energy in the direction of the Capsule Corp aircraft. All at once, Trunks felt his blood drain and his eyes narrow.  His ki flushed cold and chaotic and beserk through his veins from fear and grief and terror.  He rushed upwards, catching his mother and his infant self in his arms before the blast could tear the ship apart with Yajirobe clinging to his heel.  He sat all three of them gingerly down on the badlands floor before turning his head over his shoulder to glare at the cursing, swearing Saiyan behind him.  He sprung up and flew towards his father, full of fury and the kind of bitter hatred that could have knocked his father’s face clean through his picture to the blemish in the wall. “Why didn’t you try to save them?!  They’re your wife and child!!!!”

     “Tch!  Ridiculous”  Vegeta replied with a wicked sneer, “I have no use for such sentiment.”

     Trunks’ jaw dropped.  Once again his words caught in his throat as if the lovely, crisp, clean air of the past had suddenly become a poison gas.  A wave of hate and sadness roiled deep in his heart as he watched his father turn his back and begin to fly away, but before he could react in any other way than to clench his fists and teeth, Krillin called out, “Hey guys!  Hey!  Bulma said that guy was Dr. Gero!!”

    Vegeta paused mid-air and turned his face towards the little man on the ground standing next to his once-mate.  With great self-control he lowered himself to the broken, rocky floor of the badlands, listening intently over the roar of the blood rushing in his ears and veins for the words his once-mate was about to speak.  “That was Dr. Gero, I’m sure of it.”  She said as the baby in her arms fussed and clutched at her breasts, “He’s pretty famous as far as scientists go.  I’ve seen his picture in several science journals before.  It’s possible that he turned himself into an Android to overcome disease or old age or give himself super strength, but it’s his mind that’s the most dangerous.”

     “That Android . . . was Dr. Gero?!”  Vegeta rumbled, only slightly tilting his head in her direction, his eyes busily shifting from place to place to avoid contact with hers.

     “I KNOW what I SAW, Vegeta.”  Bulma replied as she hiked a fussy baby Trunks a little higher up on her hip.  “What, you don’t even trust me when I’m trying to help?”

     “If THAT was Dr. Gero . . . Then that means everything you told us was a CROCK!”  Vegeta said as he suddenly directed his rage towards his teenage son, “You told us . . . that Dr. Gero was KILLED by the Androids . . . . and now you say the Androids themselves were different!”

     “Sir, I—”

     “Don’t take your anger out on him!  He didn’t know!”

     “He’s from the future! Why wouldn’t this be something he would know?!”  Vegeta spat out as he took a few steps closer to his teenage son and once-mate.  “You mean he would travel all this way, go so far as to pilot a time machine back to our time, and not even so much as picked up a book or glanced at any record of what Dr. Gero may have looked like or when he may have passed away?!  A warrior is prepared for the fight!!”

     “Psh, warrior.”  Bulma said with a scoff as baby trunks pulled at her tank top, “We don’t all wake up in the morning thinking we’re in for the fight of our lives.  Not all of us have a chip on our shoulders the size of a small galaxy like you do.”

     “And that ‘chip’ has served me well in battle, among other affairs!!” Vegeta replied with a side eye to his infant son, “And in fact, by his word, this IS the fight of our lives, so excuse me if I don’t pass it off quite so lightly as you, Bulma!”

     “Oh, of course, because I’m totally taking almost getting blown up today in my own ship while my super strong ex just sat on the ground watching the whole thing go down ever so lightly, PRINCE Vegeta!”

     “Boy, what did the androids of your time look like?”  Piccolo calmly interjected.

     “One is female, young, blonde straight hair and a piercing gaze.  The other . . . male, black hair, cold blue eyes and smooth white skin, both with a slight build.”  He replied just before bowing his head and pinching the bridge of his nose, “He’s right, I should have researched this before I traveled time, it’s just that . . . the Androids of my time are so powerful, it’s hard to imagine that there were any others.”

     “Hard for you to imagine?  Hmph.”  Vegeta muttered as he folded his arms to his chest, “Hard for the rodents of this planet to envision the lion when they’ve only ever been chased by the cat.  Instead of being prepared, you just assumed that we were weak and foolish and that you would be like some prophet from the future, skilled in a battle we knew nothing about.  Well it would seem that you are just as ill-prepared as we !!”

     “Vegeta stop!!  He came back with the intention of helping us!!”  Bulma said as baby Trunks began to cry.  “It’s not like he came back for fun.”

     “Intention . . . don’t we all think we have nothing but the best of intentions.”  He hissed as his once-mate bounced his child around in a vain attempt to quiet him, “how impetuous must one be . . . to flippantly travel backwards in time without exploring every angle, every possibility?  How irresponsible is it to leave everything to chance, concentrate on only what you know, think nothing of what you do not, and assume that it’s enough to avert tragedy?  What truly was your point in returning to the past if not for your own vain curiosity?”

      “I said that’s enough!!  He came here to help!  Speaking of being unreliable and unprepared, we didn’t even know you were going to show up, in fact, you waited until the Androids had already struck south city before you even showed your face in the fight!  Poor Yamcha was on the verge of death!!”

     “Oh yes, poor Yamcha—I’m sure you were quick to nurse him back to life too. Did you feed him a senzu bean or did you take the teat from the baby’s mouth to let him literally nurse his way back to health?”

     “What’s THAT supposed to mean?!”

     “Oh poor, poor Yamcha, such a brave scumbag!  Here he was, minding his business, innocently combing the streets of south city for quarters and desperate women when along came the androids!!”

     “Oh like you’re such a fine, upstanding citizen!  Flying around the dessert fighting stone pillars—”

     “Training!  To save your planet!”

     “—spending all your time in depraved insecurity over your Ba’whe’s ex who hasn’t even been in south city in years because he’s been too busy actually training at Kami house with sparring partners that fight back and not out pulverizing rocks to dust!!”

     “Don’t you dare use the tongue of my people in vain!!”

     “Oh if ONLY there was a WALL you could fight and put your fist through to show your dominance over everyone here instead of sounding like someone with a supreme small dick complex!!!”

     Gohan and Krillin appeared to either side of Vegeta and snickered. The Saiyan male gritted his teeth and balled his fists.  He looked into the face of his once mate and found a fierce, unflinching opponent staring back at him, ripe with absolute female resolve, immune to the frantic wails of the child on her hip as she thrust her face forward, daring him to speak, to move, to breathe, and just for a brief, inexplicable second, he visualized his brother in place of the baby, his mother in place of Bulma, his father standing in his very shoes with Nappa standing to the side, a mortified look on his pale face same as the one on his teenage son’s face as Future Trunks stood utterly shocked, dazed and confused over the fight of his parents.  “I don’t need you.”  Vegeta murmured in a voice that drilled through his ex-mate in cold hurt, “I don’t need ANY of you!!!  I’ll take these Androids on myself!!!!!”

     Vegeta sprang up into the air and cut through the sky fast as a bullet.  “Father . . . father no.”  Trunks mouthed quietly to himself as he quickly combed his fingers through his lavender hair.

      “We can’t let Vegeta confront the Androids on his own—it would be a slaughter.”  Said Piccolo.

     “Ugh let him do what he wants!  Who needs him anyway?  Such a jerk!”  Bulma said as she hooked her finger around the edge of her tank top and lowered it just enough to let baby Trunks latch on.  “If he wants to die, let him die.  Not like he has any family to worry about anyways.”

     Future Trunks squeezed his eyes shut as his mother’s words seemed to reach out and slap him across the face.  “I won’t let you die.  I can’t let him die again!!!”   

     Future Trunks bounded off the ground and flew in the direction of his father’s ki.  “You should know,”  Piccolo said as he followed the boy with his eyes through the blue sky and clouds, “that the boy from the future . . . is the baby you hold in your arms.”

     “Hmm?  What?”  Bulma said as she lifted her eyes to the sky, “Trunks?!  My Trunks?!”  She said, looking down to the baby that was softly sucking at her breast, his velvety purple eyes, his thick, furrowing eyebrows, “Trunks.”  She said again, and all at once it seemed as if the past, present and future melded together, and the hopes she’d had for her child became at once true and not true—true through what he was, but not by her hand alone. 


	24. Confrontation - the Androids walk among us!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dr Gero has escaped and Vegeta is on the hunt, but Trunks is certain his father is no match for the Androids! Will Trunks convince Vegeta to stand down until Goku is healed, or will a showdown between father & son ensue? 
> 
> \---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Trunks shot through the air.  Every muscle in his body, face and jaw were tight and tense, his chi singularly focused on catching up to the man whose energy was cutting a hole through the atmosphere like a sharp knife through paper—his father.

      _There were some good things about him.  He was too proud to show any kindness, but I could tell . . ._

     “No, it’s not true, there isn’t a shred of goodness about him at all!!”  Trunks said to himself, feeling some bit of his faith in the goodness of life die inside of himself, “He didn’t try to save Mom or his baby!! He’s evil through and through!!”  Trunks said, diving deep into his hatred, punching a hole through the sky like the hole in the wall behind his father’s picture, deep, bruising, as if punishing the waste of time the return trip was turning out to be.  As his hateful energy increased, the gap between them shortened.  He saw his father turn his head over his shoulder and smirk just before his energy tripled, whooshing through the air with a kind of mastery and grace Trunks had never witnessed before, not with Master Gohan, not even with the Androids, and somewhere deep within his hatred he felt the tiniest spark, a nameless feeling, the subtle flavor of awe and admiration buried deep among the bitter swirls of anger and resentment, aside from the urge to fight, aside from the desire to rip his father apart with his bare hands and save his death for his own instead of giving that victory to the Androids.  “I won’t let you die.  I can’t let you die!  Not by their hands!!”

     Vegeta suddenly slowed his flight down to a coasting glide and Trunks, being lost in all consuming thought, unintentionally zipped up to his father’s side.  “How long do you intend on following me?” Vegeta sneered as he cocked his eyebrow towards his son, “Go away kid, you bother me.”

     “I can’t do that.  I know you want to fight the Androids.”

     “What are you going to do when we find the lab?  Are you going to fight me to get to those Androids?”

     “If it comes to that.”

     Vegeta suddenly turned and thrust his chest into Trunks’.  “I’d like to see you try, boy.  You may be a Super Saiyan, but I am a Prince, descended only of those of the most dominant blood, finest of my race.”

     “Your race?  Am I not Saiyan as well?  You talk about me as though I were less than you somehow.”

     Vegeta gave a nefarious laugh, “You are nothing more than the result of Saiyan seed polluting earth vermin.”  He said as he brought his forehead down to that of his son’s, “Half-breed welp.  Look at you, even now you let the sickness of sentiment stay your hand.  If you were really that passionate about stopping these toy robots from destroying your trash planet, you would have engaged me by now, so what is it boy?  What’s stopping you from stopping me?!  Is it some misguided sense of affection?  Some self righteous virtue that prevents you from striking against your own father?!”

     Trunks pulled away from his father and floated in the air, dumbstruck.  He felt the color suddenly drain from his face and his golden hair faded and laid down straight against his temples. 

     “Yes, I know. I know that you are of me.”  Vegeta said as he folded his arms across his chest.  “And you are so struck by this fact that you would let your energy down, how like a human you are!  A true Saiyan would treasure the opportunity to challenge his father in battle!”

     “A True Saiyan?  How do you expect me to be a true Saiyan when you were never there for me?!”  Trunks spat out.

     “And what?  Did you expect me to coddle you like your mother?  Give you the answers to all the tests in life, hand you every blanket, every shelter, every goddamn piece of meat you eat, let you nurse from the bottle in my hand as if I were the cow and not her?  That is not my function in life, boy.  Life is hard, life is hell, life is the battle we wage every day to draw a breath in freedom.  A true Saiyan would never let a single slip of weakness show.  The weak are meant to be subjects, Saiyans are meant to be their conquerors—never do we need a handout or pittance of help, such a thing would surely be of great shame!   A pure Saiyan would want to fight the Androids at the peak of their strength!!  A pure Saiyan wouldn’t let the need for approval from their father stand in the way of the thing that needs to be done,”  Vegeta growled out as he drew closer to his son again, “and so far, in the short time that I’ve known you, you have been NOTHING more than a disappointment to me, the perfect example of why Saiyan blood should never mix with that of a lesser race, a shadow, a whisp, a piss poor excuse of a warrior just as easily crushed by a tongue than a fist!!”

     Trunks balled his fists and gritted his teeth, but as the tears began to well up in his eyes he let go of both.  “I’m not ashamed of who I am, father.”

     “Watch your tongue--you haven’t earned the right to call me that.”

     “I’m your own blood!  Your own flesh and blood!  Look at me, Father!  _I am your son_!!”

     “No . . . what you are is nothing more than a mistake.”  Vegeta hissed, turning the words slowly in his mouth like the twist of a knife, sharp, acerbic, bitter and metallic.  He rotated his shoulder and leaned into it, letting it pull his body in the opposite direction of his son in a final gesture of cold, intentional cruelty.   “Now,”  He said while the insult was still smoldering, “Where the devil is that lab anyway?”

     Trunks wiped his cheeks with the back of his sleeve.  He gave a short, forceful cough so that his father wouldn’t hear the sound of his sniffling, to hide his detestable human side as it came seeping out in conflicted internal anguish, proving his father right, that he was weak and polluted, a nobody, stranded between races, neither human nor Saiyan.  But before the maelstrom of emotion could consume him completely, Trunks felt a sudden jump in chi coming from somewhere in the west which his father also felt, as was evident in his sudden turn and takeoff in its direction.  Trunks followed closely after, calling behind him “You can’t!!  You can’t face them alone!! We have to wait for Goku!!” But no matter how loud he shouted this, no matter how high he banked his own chi off the feeling of alarm and terror and death and urgency, Vegeta ignored it and blew full throttle ahead to the target of his prey. 

      In the red, rocky outskirts of the badlands, Krillin hovered in the sky just above a small cave in the side of a mountain.  Piccolo and Tien soon arrived, followed by Vegeta and Trunks.  All five men alighted on the ledge together with Krillin and Tien starting immediately on trying to pry open the large steel doors barricading Dr. Gero’s lab.  “Move, I’ll break it down.”  Said Piccolo, but as he raised his hand and began to build a charge, sounds of angry voices from the inside began to escalate. 

     Krillin gasped, “The-the androids . . . . they’ve been activated”

     “We’re too late.”  Piccolo said as he lowered his hand.

     “Bullshit.  Move out of the way, fool.”  Vegeta said as a flash of light filled his palm

     “No!! We can wait until Goku gets better!!”  Trunks screamed.

     “Tch, Kakarot.”  Vegeta scoffed.  He then let out a blast that melted the hinges off the great steel doors, revealing Dr. Gero inside . . . and two other beings that defied the definition of Android.  Male and Female, brother and sister—the whole party of Z fighters stood or floated in the air in motionless awe of their breathtakingly exquisite design.  The male was slender and smooth-skinned, as youthful as trunks, black hair that fell in a perfectly straight waterfall to his angular jaw line.  But face to face with Vegeta was the female, fair faced and flawless, eyes the color of icy blue.  She gave a slight, menacing smile to him as she fanned her blonde hair with her fingertips, noticing how easily he betrayed his desire to conquer her, and all at once, the cold and beautiful Android 18 felt the same sense of deep satisfaction her creator must have felt in coding her to seduce and destroy. 

     “Is that them?  They’d better be the right ones this time.”  Vegeta growled to Trunks somewhat indirectly.

     “Yes.  Those are the Androids.”

     “Those are number 17 & 18?!”  Krillin squeaked as he soaked in the beauty of number 18 with his eyes.

      “Don’t let their looks fool you, they’re deadly!”  Trunks said as he noticed the subject of Krillin’s stare.

     “It’s them!! The friends of Son Goku !! Kill them now!!!!”  Dr Gero screeched.

     Number 17 tilted his head and gave a smirk.  He planted his hands on his hips and took a leisurely stroll around the remnants of the lab.

     “Didn’t you hear me?!  Don’t underestimate them!  They killed number 19 and nearly killed me!!  As your creator, I order you to kill them now!!!” 

     “We will kill them when we want to.”  Number 17 replied, trading glances with his sister as she slid her hand over the glass top of a large metal pod with the number 16 stamped on the side.

     “Wha—DON’T TOUCH THAT!!!”

     “This is an infinite model just like us.”  18 coolly replied, “So much bigger . . . . I wonder, how else is he different?”

     “Number 16 was an experimental model and a failure!!! If you release him, you’ll kill us all!!!!”

     “You disposed of all the rest of us through 15.”  She said as she curled her hand around the latch, “You’ve kept him around for quite a while for a failure.” 

     “Do you have to defy everything I say?!  You’re both just like 16—FAILURES!!!”  Dr. Gero said as he gnashed his teeth, “I’LL DEACTIVATE YOU ALL!!!”

     “I destroyed the controller.” Said number 17.

     “You think I can’t build another?!”  Dr. Gero said as he positioned himself a little closer to number 17, pausing as he heard the _beep boop beep_ of number 18 pressing numbers on the panel of the pod, “DIDN’T YOU HEAR ME?!  DON’T PRESS THAT SWITCH!!!!!”

  Number 17 struck a blow between Dr. Gero’s shoulder blades.  A look of terrible realization washed over the old robot’s face just briefly before number 17 turned in a windmill kick that connected with his creator’s head, shearing it cleanly off of his body.  The head rolled to the feet of Krillin, saying in a sick, distorted voice “Lousy pieces of junk” before 17 flew above and brought his foot down squarely on its side, sending cog wheels and brains all over the cavern walls.  “Now then,” Number 17 said as he met eyes with his sister, “Press the switch.”

     “No you don’t!  I won’t let there be any more Androids!!!” Trunks exclaimed, engulfing himself in a spectacular burst of Super Saiyan energy before blasting it out from his palms with the force of a 20 megaton bomb.  Piccolo, Krillin and Tien scrambled.  The cave walls collapsed.  The face of the mountain—trees, boulders, all that had sat undisturbed for hundreds and thousands of years—crumbled to the canyon floor, sending plumes of dust and dirt up into the air.

     “What was that for, Idiot?”  Vegeta muttered to his son, “That was pointless.”

     “Pointless?”  Trunks replied, and as the plumes of dust and dirt began to thin and settle, revealing the androids standing together, holding the pod aloft in the air on the other side of the wounded mountain, Trunks felt his heart fall to his feet.  In his mind he heard the words of Dr. Gero echo _you’re all failures_ as he witnessed from afar the pod door being successfully opened by 18.  From out of the pod emerged a giant, red hair flaming in a wild mohawk, thick green armor covering his body like a machine built for death.  “I – I’ve never seen this one before.  I have no idea what that is . . . or what it’s capable of.  I feel so stupid . . . I am so completely unprepared!!”  He said as he plowed his fingers through the locks of his lavender hair.

     “Look, they’re flying away!”  Krillin exclaimed as all three Androids flew off. 

     “But where are they going?  What are they doing?”

     “I don’t know Tien, but they’re not going in the direction of North City, which is where they boy said they’d be heading for their first big battle.”  Piccolo answered, giving a sideways glance to Trunks.

     “I know where they’re going,” Krillin exclaimed in horror, “ . . . guys, they’re going in the direction of Goku’s house!!  They’re going to kill Goku!!”

     Vegeta rolled his eyes and crossed his arms, stuffing his hands into armpits.  “Psh, Kakarot.  And I, Vegeta, was right here.  Did they not think me worthy of their time?!”  He said, exploding into Super Saiyan form.

     But as the enraged Saiayn began to follow the Androids, Trunks positioned himself in front, throwing his arms to either side as if blocking the way.  “You mustn’t go after him!  Please, PLEASE be patient!  We have to wait!!”

     “You mean, until Kakarot gets better . . . “

     “I mean until we can all fight together now LISTEN TO ME!!!”  Trunks said, letting the anger soak through his voice as though it were his natural accent, “We NEED Goku!  We NEED Tien!  We NEED Piccolo!! Father, if you take on the Androids by yourself you’ll just be going to your death!!”

     Vegeta slowly blinked his aquamarine eyes.  He studied the face of his son, saw his mother in his face, saw his own eyes beneath the boy’s thick, furrowing brow.  And when it seemed like the air had softened between them, like the gulf of time had poured together then and now, future and present, Vegeta reared back his fist and hit his son full force in the stomach in a punch that was almost as forceful as the blast that took down the mountain. 

     Trunks opened his mouth and let loose a spray of saliva.  He curled his body around his father’s fist, suspended in physical and emotional shock as Vegeta indifferently flew away.  Trunks had become the wall, the dented wall of his nursery, the dented wall of his room at Capsule corp many years in the future where his Mother sat thinking fond thoughts of a man with a gentle side, place a picture over the blemish, deny the violence.  Piccolo moved forward.  He placed his hand on Trunk’s back and gave it a rub like he had so many times with Gohan when he had to step in and play the role of the father.  “Trunks, it’s---”

     “It’s NOT ok!  NOT OK!!”  Trunks lashed out as he moved his body away from the Namekian’s hand.  “Let him die!!!”  He said as he slowly floated to the ground on his knees, laying his forehead gently to the rubble he had created when he took out the canyon wall.  “I don’t care.  I don’t care anymore.  He deserves to die.”  He said, speaking directly into the earth as his ribcage ached and his insides twisted and his half-alien tears mixed with the gentle earth. 

 

 


	25. Deadly Beauty -- Android 18 vs. Vegeta

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vegeta takes off to confront the Androids, but will he meet his fate at the hands of a deadly beauty?
> 
> \-------------------------------------------------------------------------
> 
> Hey guys, I got the house :) !!!!!!!!!! Thank you so much for all your words of encouragement, I really super appreciate it! Maybe now that I've got an actual, real place to call my own I can devote a lil more time to making progress on Earth Vermin, which is swiftly becoming almost like a novel in and of itself :) Hope you enjoy this chapter - I enjoy writing action scenes almost as much as I enjoy writing sex scenes .....almost. yeah but I want to get back to the sex part. and it will happen. sooooonnnnn :D
> 
> \-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Android 18 glanced down at the earth scrolling below her extended arms, her rippling, striped sleeves, below where the mountains and trees heaped upon each other in desperate, organic disarray beneath her precisely engineered body.  “Let’s land there.”  She said to her brothers, changing the pitch and roll of her body to swoop down upon the highest, snowiest peak in the mountain chain.    When all three of them had alighted upon the winding road that graced the mountain like a garland, 18 folded her arms over her breasts and gave a small, cold smile to number 16.  “You’re not like us.”  She said as her bionic eyes danced over strategic points of the giant’s body, “What is your purpose?”

     “My purpose.”  Android 16 repeated, matching the inquirent’s speech rhythm and tone, “is to kill Son Goku.”

     “It seems we do have something in common.”  Android 18 said as she hooked her long blonde hair behind her ear.

     “I am not like you.”  Android 16 said, “I am superior in every way.”

     “Superior?”  Android 17 cooly repeated.

     Android 16 turned his face to follow the flight of a small white butterfly as it flitted among the rugged white flowers that grew on the rocky mountain side.  He set his visual feedback to record the butterfly as its wings pulsed, up and down, stationary on the flower, a most delicate machine but no less precise or powerful for its size than he. 

     “For a superior being, it would seem your auditory processing functions are failing.”  Android 17 quipped.

     “My auditory processing is functioning well.  I hear the birds in the trees, the wind in the valley, and the bugs crawling within the rocks with utmost clarity.“

     “But you failed to hear me when I posed the query towards your superiority.”

     “I hear . . . but your words are not what I was listening for.”  Android 16 replied as he extended his fingers towards the butterfly as it floated upwards, hovering at eye level with the giant android before opening its wings and sailing down the face of the mountain.

     Beyond the insect’s open wings, a point of light appeared on the horizon, traveling fast, growing larger and brighter as it approached.  All three Androids tracked the object with their visual sensors, a similar command crossing each of their electro-mechanical minds as the Saiyan Prince Vegeta drew closer, landing on the road before them, an evil smirk creasing his face as he sized up the enemy.       

     “I didn’t think you’d still be loitering around.”  Vegeta said as he straightened his posture to stand straight and tall, crossing his arms over his chest, “Perhaps Dr. Gero focused more on granting you strength than brains.”

     Android 17 ran diagnostics on the figure before him, catching statistics on his height, weight, water volume, energy levels, respiration rate and andreneline parts per million.  “Clearly we have no reason to run.”

     “You have a reason.  I am that reason!!”  Vegeta exclaimed as he renewed the force of his chi, his aura of power fanning out in bright translucent spines.  “Behold the Prince of all Saiyans, your destroyer!!”

     “Are all you Saiyans so full of yourselves?”  Android 17 replied, “Is Goku like you?”

     “You’re going to wish I were Kakarot when I’m through with you.  Which one of you tin cans wishes to die first?  You there, giant—you wish to go first?”

     Androids 17 and 18 turned their heads towards the towering figure of 16.  “We’d all like to see what you’ve got.  Do it.”  18 said, her voice carrying the slightest emulation of the human emotion of encouragement. 

     “No.  That is not my purpose.”

     Android 18 blinked her lovely eyes as she processed the refusal. 

     “Ha!  There’s one who knows what I’m capable of!”  Vegeta said, “Are either one of you going to step up or are your circuits frying?”

     Android 18 gave a subtle sigh, “Whatever.  I’ll do it.”  She said, taking a step forward towards the Saiyan Prince, her eyes fixed deep into his in unsettling robotic emptiness.   

     “I’m not going to take it easy on you just because you’re a woman.”  Vegeta hissed as he drew his right arm back, his left hand curling at eye level in a pinching motion, his gloved fingertips in in line with his widow’s peak, fierce eyes glaring out from his thick, black eyebrows, sizing up the deadly beauty before him with the ancient battle stance of royals. 

     Android 18 gave a warm smile as her sensors set to work measuring the Saiyan’s energy output and bodily dimensions.  She hooked her hair behind her ear and placed her hands up, silently mocking the organic being’s technique by emulating his pointless posturing.  “Don’t hold back now.”

     “Don’t worry, I won’t.”  and with that, Vegeta’s chi was set alight in a burst of gold, his hair, eyes and skin changing color chameleon-like to that of the primordial super Saiyan—golden shocks of hair standing straight up from the roots, pale skin, fierce, shielded eyes the color of the oceans of Sadala.  He could see the Android’s eyes dilate slightly as she absorbed the sight of him—was it fear? Was it desire? Was it the same desire he felt deep down in the marrow of his being to tear her beautiful body apart and see if it were cog wheels and wires or blood that would be let loose from her veins?  He smirked as he recalled the sensation of ripping off the arms of the fat android, Android 19, and heard his own words echoing in his ears, _Do Machines know fear?_

     “Bring it on!”  Android 18 said, and Vegeta rushed in, diving for her abdomen in a sudden, strong burst of energy, knocking her deep into a nearby cliffside.  He drew swiftly back away from her, and with both arms gunning, he sent blasts of white hot energy raining down upon her one after the other, obliterating the granite mountain side around her.  Energy orbs crackled all around from the assault.  The dust of ancient stones rolled to the white boots of the Saiyan Prince, and when he had blasted her to his full satisfaction—when it felt like his energy had come to a complete cycle through his veins--he stopped, relishing the thickness of the billowing brown clouds all around, searching them for the scent of oil and burnt wires.  But as the clouds subsided, he felt the sudden shock of seeing her standing there, clothes slightly torn but her body not in the slightest bit deteriorated—her skin still white and smooth and flawless, her eyes still ice blue and lined in heavy black, her blonde hair still straight and clean and perfect. 

     “You look a bit ruffled.”  Vegeta said through his teeth, trying hard not to show his annoyance or contempt.

     Android 18 gave a small chortle, “Yes, well . . . looks aren’t everything.”  She said as she removed the shell of her Red Ribbon Army denim jacket.  “You fight quite well for being such a small man.”

     “Not small.”  He snarled, “There are very few who are willing to train as intensely as I did to achieve this kind of power.”

     Android 18 recalibrated her controls.  She opened the valves in her arms and legs to permit greater gain and ran internal shielding defense over her vulnerable trunk.  “How sad.  To have worked so hard for . . . so little.”

     “Sad for YOU!”  Vegeta cried out as he rushed forward, throwing a punch that was immediately blocked by the machine-girl, as was the next and the next as he unleashed a flurry of kicks and punches that were each immediately met by her arms and legs.  He gnashed his teeth and rebounded, remembering from his battle stance the curl in his fingers, the desire to rip his enemy asunder, in his mind the memory of Oozaru rage, blind hatred, impossible to defeat in its righteousness, his intent turning to engulf her in unbridled, punishing power. 

     Piccolo, Krillin, Trunks, Tien and Trunks stood in a line to witness the great fight.  “I can’t see a thing!”  Krillin exclaimed, “Who’s winning?”

     Piccolo narrowed his Namekian eyes, “Vegeta’s on the attack.”

    “That’s it!  Go get her!”  Tien shouted, causing Android 17 to turn his head slightly in the three eyed human’s direction. 

     Trunks rubbed his hand over his belly, felt the faint, nebulous pain of the bruise forming inside from the impact of his father’s fist.  Where the human Krillin squinted and struggled and shaded his eyes in effort to gain a glimpse of the fight on the cliff, Trunks followed the fight with ease.  He watched as Krillin danced around to the punches and kicks and thought about a time that had not yet happened, when Master Gohan would chastise him for doing the same thing, of wasting energy getting caught up in the excitement of a fight instead of reserving it for the fight itself, yet the more he stared at the short, noseless human, the more he began to recall a feeling, a feeling that seemed so vague and ill-defined at first, but now, in a different light, seemed so much more pronounced.  Trunks turned his eyes from Krillin to his own fists.  He turned his eyes from his fists to his own father.  He thought of how he had dismissed Master Gohan each time he had encouraged him to use his Saiyan rage to power his chi, how useless it seemed, what an annoyance it was for his love to keep dredging up a part of himself he wanted nothing to do with, the blood of a father who’d had no presence in his life, the culture of a race that had long since destroyed themselves in war and bloodlust, but here he stood facing the battle, watching as his father responded with every blow and every kick with inhuman speed, his flight effortless and nimble, his chi so strong that it glowed in the dimming light of day.  His father was indeed powerful, impressively so.  His eyes watered slightly as he began to fully realize what Master Gohan had been trying to teach--that the blood flowing through his veins was so much more than human, so much more than someone who could just pass as human, someone who had only ever been half of anything and never fully one of the other.  His father flew high above the bleeding sunset and with his fists made a sonic boom that rolled over the quaking earth and Trunks stood in absolute spiritual awe.  Deep in his blood, deep in his bones, he felt the echo of that sonic boom coil down his own energy like a tightening spring.  He turned his watering eyes to the earth and imagined Master Gohan laying there, face down, drowning in the tears Trunks had cried out of frustration, out of sadness, out of fear and defeat.  “I hate him,”  Trunks said outloud to himself, turning the ear of Krillin, “But I won’t deny who I am anymore.  He is my father, Prince of all Saiyans . . . your families served his as low class soldiers, Master, and I learned so much from you.  But . . . this blood in my veins . . . it is royal.  There is nothing good about him, yet . . . He is my sire.” 

     Vegeta reared back his fist and brought it up to 18’s jaw with a twist.  He placed his hands around her neck and curled his fingers in sharp, unbridled cruelty.  He brought his forehead down to hers and looked deep into her unfeeling, unflinching eyes, so icy and placid and alluring, blue like his one time mate, their almond shape so distinctly feminine.  As he tightened his grip around her throat, his mind flitted involuntarily to the last time he beheld a face just beneath his, the petal upon her parted lips, the fresh scent of Astia flowers, how he had hungered yet refused to eat, how he indulged in her lips so red and ripe, how she had won their battles so many times in bed.  He fought through the distraction and dug his thumbs into what should have been the Android’s trachea, felt her neck expand and contract with the emulation of breaths that no matter how hard he squeezed, he could not choke them out or stop, or even provoke a more frantic response.  It was not unlike how cold and distant and ambivilant she had become, she with the blue eyes and blue hair, yet another female he could no longer reach.  Vegeta brought his chi to his fists.  He envisioned bringing the two sides of her neck together with his palms.  His eyes flashed, the force of his chi burned bright around his knuckles, but beneath him, the android said in a voice that was cold, calm and utterly apathetic, “Your hands are too small to do that, little man.”

     18 brought her hands up between his arms, palms touching palms.  She separated her hands and hit them against his forearms, breaking his grip on her neck.  Vegeta curled his body slightly inward, and Android 18 immediately shattered the inside of his implied circle by throwing a right hook to his stomach, forcing the spit from his mouth as his ribcage absorbed the force of the machine.  She rotated her shoulder above his hovering body and brought her elbow down on the center of his hunched back, sending him hurtling to the road below, his body forming a small crater as the impact shattered blacktop.  Android 18 rushed towards the center of the crater.  Vegeta quickly responded with a strike that slammed her body into the rocky wall of the mountain.  He to her with both fists forward, driving his knuckles into her chest and pelvis, but failed to take into account her long, strong legs.  She bent at the waist and struck Vegeta in the side, curling him into her where she once again struck with her sharp elbows to the side of his face and ribs, knocking him into her knees, disorienting him just long enough for her to peel herself off the rocky mountain wall and into the air, taking him with her, the two of them instantly engaged in immediate, urgent struggle.  Like a dance, the two of them met their punches and kicks with equal grace and power, each trying to outdo the other, one with machine precision, the other with the heart and soul of hate.     

     “He’s done for.”  Piccolo said, invoking a collective gasp from the other Z Fighters, “She’s wearing him down.”

     “Wearing him down?”  Krillin said, “He’s a Super Saiyan, those guys don’t give up till their target is defeated or dead!”

     “And she’s a machine.”  Piccolo replied, “A machine with an infinite energy source--”

     “--And Vegeta is only flesh.”  Tien said, finishing Piccolo’s sentence, “Look—you can see he’s getting tired!”

     Vegeta backed away from Android 18, taking a few breaths before resuming his battle stance, but before he could even bring his fingers to their distinctive curl, Android 18 was on top of him, throwing punches that were just as powerful and deadly accurate as they had been at the beginning of the fight.  She hit him in the jaw, then in the flank, and as he turned his forearm across his body to ready a strike, her leg met it in the middle with such a force that a loud SNAP could be heard reverberating off the canyon wall. 

     Vegeta’s eyes went wide and white.  His hand flopped to the side off the broken arm, sending a shock of terror through his body and through that of his son, whose fear and failure and hate and desire caved in suddenly, violently—his purpose, his promise to his mother, to Master Gohan, to the future, all caved in, cracked, his father’s death, this was how it was going to happen, with he as witness, doing nothing while he stewed in his own hate and angst.    “Father?!”  Trunks called out as his feet left the ground, “FATHER NO!!!!”

     Piccolo watched in terror as Trunks drew his sword.  He thought of the nights of watching Gohan in the wilderness, how he worried, how he fretted and bit his nails in anxiety each time the child drew close to danger.  “That little idiot!”  he said through his teeth as Trunks readied his sword to strike Android 18, “NOOOO!!!!”

     Piccolo sprung from the canyon floor, as did Tien, leaving Krillin behind.  The two men rushed after the teenage Saiyan, but his sword had already met the Android’s forearm, leaving it shattered and crumbling as the teenage Saiyan’s mouth dropped open in utter disbelief.  Android 17 zipped between Trunks and Piccolo and delivered a devastating blow to Trunks’ back, sending him crashing to the earth as Piccolo and Tien each immediately attacked the black haired assailant. 

    Vegeta sat on his knees on the stony mountain.  He gritted his teeth and griped his broken arm and felt a surge of hatred light up his body as 17 wrapped his arm around Tien’s neck and squeezed.  With the last ounce of his rebounding chi, he pushed himself up in the air, only to be caught by the foot by Android 18’s delicate but deadly hand.  She pulled against his upward flight and used his force to slam his body into that of his son, crashing into each other with a force that knocked the gold out of Trunks’ hair, returning it to its natural, lavender color.  Soon Piccolo fell beside them, as did Tien, and while the Androids stood over the evidence of their superiority, gloating, smiling to themselves over how easy it had been to defeat the Z fighters, Vegeta thrust himself up from the rock and sent a blast from his open palm at Android 18, who immediately retaliated out of annoyance, knocking the proud Saiyan prince back down to his hands and knees over the sharp and punishing rubble.  “I’d better disable your other arm too”  She said, cool and emotionless as she swept her leg out and connected with Vegeta’s good arm, snapping it with ease.

     Vegeta howled.  He let loose a cry that echoed all over the mountain chain and stirred Goku deep in his fever-induced sleep.  The sound stirred the infant Trunks in his cradle far, far away in the halls of Capsule Corp, and caused Bulma to inexplicably run towards her window, unsure of what she might find there, unsure of what she was looking for.  The sound moved like thunder in the heart of the boy from the future, uncoiling the loaded springs in his bones in the final, utter sadness of defeat.

     With a final breath of surrender, Vegeta laid his body on the ground.  His hair went black and cold, his lifeforce dwindled away. 

     “You’d better feed them a senzu fast.”  17 said to Krillin as the androids alighted on the cliff, “It heals them completely, doesn’t it?”

     “The birds flew away because you were so noisy.”  16 said, cooly chastising the other two, “Let’s fly away from here, go where they go, find Son Goku so that we might wring his neck.”

     Android 18 gave a smallish little chuckle to herself.  She approached the human Krillin, who was shaking and sputtering, and bent down to plant a small, sweet kiss upon his cheek before swiftly taking to the skies with her brothers.   Krillin gasped.  He felt over the spot of her electric kiss with the tips of his fingers.  “The . . . the senzu beans . . . they knew about that too??  The senzu!” 

     Krillin quickly scaled down the slope from the road to the cliff where the Z fighters were scattered, broken and barely clinging to life.  He rationed the precious sage bean, breaking them in half for Piccolo and Tien, giving a whole bean to Trunks, who was restored fully back to life and health before Krillin could bring himself to put a senzu in the mouth of Vegeta, who quickly alighted his chi in blazing rage and took off like a shot in the direction of the Androids.  As Trunks readied himself to take to the air, Piccolo threw out his arm and splayed his clawed, green fingers and said in a firm, authoritative voice, “No.  Let him go.  He just got his insides kicked out by a woman, his pride is hurt.  Don’t go after him.”

     “But he’s my fath—he’s in danger!  We can’t let—”

     “We know, Trunks . . . . I know.  You don’t have to hide it from us.  Vegeta is your father.  It’s only natural that you would want to go after him, but he needs to work this out on his own.  Let him fly, let him go lick his own wounds.  Our next focus should center on Goku.”

         

 


	27. Two time machines?!  Bulma and Trunks on the jungle isle !

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trunks goes to the home of Son Goku after his party's humiliating defeat at the hands of the Androids, but will a fax from his present-day mother reveal a greater danger?
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> Happy Independence day everyone :) ! I'm going to San Francisco California next week, first time I've ever been that far west so I am super excited to see what the west coast is like. It's very hot in Ohio today so I am sitting inside, knocking out another chapter of Earth Vermin before going for a swim. I'm starting to see the light at the end of the tunnel for this story, so hopefully that fact will keep a little momentum going under me enough to see it to the finish! As always, thanks for reading!
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     Trunks lagged slightly behind Krillin as they headed towards Goku’s house.  The colorful, exuberant farmland with its fields full of carrots and corn and lettuce, its borders outlined with robust green hedgerows and stray wolf trees seemed to billow upwards like earthen clouds, closing in around them as they lowered their elevation from the sky to the lushly vegetated heaven.  Trunks set one foot down on the ground and it seemed almost like yet another slap in the face—that this time, this period in history, could be so rich and luxurious compared to that of his own where only dust and rubble proliferated thanks to The Androids.  _Why?  Why did history change so much?_   Trunks thought to himself as Krillin alighted on the ground before him and took a few steps towards the little round house in the woods, _The Andoids weren’t this powerful when I lived this before, and there were just two of them!_

     Krillin raised his hand, then paused before his knuckles could hit the door.  “Say, I have a question.”

     Trunks perked his head up.  He made eye contact with the little man and nodded his head.

     “Th-those Androids . . . They’re definitely bad guys, right?”

     Trunks knitted his eyebrows and narrowed his eyes briefly.  He stood up straight and tall and read over Krillin’s face, realizing momentarily how very little he knew of the complex emotions of pure human beings, of those who had never experienced the devastation that he had, how pure the people of his time, how foreign it seemed.  “They’ll devastate the world.”  Trunks replied, feeling fully the coldness of his Saiyan blood, “At least, they did in my time.  Why?”

     “N-nothing.  I was just hoping maybe they weren’t.”  Krillin said as the image of Android 18 flashed through his mind. 

     “There’s no point in hoping for the absurd.”  Trunks said as Krillin turned to the front door of Goku’s home and gave it a knock.

     “GOHAN IS THAT YOU?!” 

     The front door of the house flew open, catching Krillin in the head with the knob.  In the doorway stood a beautiful older woman dressed in a plain cheongsam with a mandarin collar and frog clasps leading down from the neck to her right sleeve.  Her black hair was pulled into a bun except for two long strands that framed her face, her great black eyes were warm and friendly.  “Krillin?!” she said as she planted her hand into her hip and scowled, her once warm and friendly eyes turning sharp and deadly.

     Krillin placed his hand to the side of his mouth to hide his words from ChiChi, “this is Goku’s wife.”  He said under his breath with a slight roll of his eyes.

     “Krillin!  You’re safe!!”  Yamcha called from inside the house.  “Aww man I was so worried!!”

     “Yamcha!”  Krillin said as he pushed past ChiChi and entered the home with Trunks following hesitantly behind.  “How’s Goku?”

     “He took the medicine so he’s fine now.  He’s sleeping.”

     Trunks wandered slightly away from the two men and took in the sights of Goku’s home, all the books and decorations, the straight shelves, the warm lights, the crystal clear windows, the warm bustling kitchen to which ChiChi had returned, where peppers and beans hung from strings and three great pots bubbled with water boiling for tea and rice.  His own mother had been the wealthiest woman in the world at one time, yet they had never had a home as rich as this, with so much food, with friends smiling and shaking hands, making plans together to move Goku to another friend’s house as he lay sweating under blankets on the floor.  “He’s back!”  ChiChi suddenly shouted as she looked out of her kitchen window.  She ran to the door and flung it open once again, immediately embracing her son. 

     “Why is everyone here, mom?”  Gohan said as he clutched at her apron, “Did something happen?”

     “We’re going on a trip to Master Roshi’s island, isn’t that fun dear? Grab anything you’d like to take with you and let’s get going!”

     Gohan bounded for his room, gathering his books and toys in a sheet that he fashioned into a knapsack.  His mother carried with her great basketfuls of food and blankets.  Krillin and Yamcha grabbed the corners of the mat Goku was sleeping on and lifted it up and out of the house and into the Capsule Corp 576, a quiet, roomy, modern plane.  Together, with Yamcha at the controls, they lifted off and headed towards the ocean. 

    

Trunks felt an odd feeling in the pit of his stomach.  It grew larger, darker, bottomless.  He looked around the cabin to the human beings who were sitting in silence around him—to ChiChi’s beaming face, to Krillin who sat with his arms crossed and his eyes closed, lost in thought that occasionally washed across his face in alternating expressions of pain and hope, to Goku who groaned and squirmed beneath the blanket that covered his body, to Gohan, who was but a child, younger than he was when he had first met his Master, the man he would fall in love with, still innocent and naïve, not yet a warrior as he was.  He owed everything he was to this boy and not a bit of it to his own father, who he imaged was out in the badlands somewhere, licking his wounds, boiling in his rage.  The fact that he could take the time to reflect on his own failings assured him that he would not become such an evil man one day, so petty, so full of pride, yet so powerful, so absolute.  Trunks closed his eyes and laid his head back against the inside body of the plane, feeling the hum of the machine through his skull, “I could go further back into the past.”  He said out loud while everyone was still deep in their quiet thoughts.

     “Huh?  What’s that?” asked Krillin.

     “We know where Dr. Gero’s lab is now.  I could take the time machine, go back in time, destroy the lab, poof! It would be all over!”  Trunks replied.

     “Doesn’t the time machine take a long time to charge?” 

     Trunks swallowed the lump in his throat, “Yes.”

     “Will you be able to get back to your own time if you do?”

     “I . . . I don’t know.  Truth is, I don’t know if there is such a thing as ‘my own time’ anymore.”

     “What do you mean?”

     “There’s both a future in which Goku has died and one in which he lived.  Each change in the past creates new futures.” Trunks said before taking a sharp breath through his nose and leaning his head back again, “Nothing—nothing I did by coming here changed anything about the future I’m from.”

     “But Goku’s getting better now!” Krillin exclaimed, “he’s on the mend—he’s close to being fully recovered.  You HAVE changed the future!”

     “Yes but, not my future.”

     “Then what was the point of you coming to the past?” Yamcha said as he glanced up into the rear view mirror, “If nothing’s changed then why bother?”

     “No offense Mr. Yamcha, but I don’t know that you would understand.”  Trunks replied, returning the airplane passengers to uncomfortable silence as Yamcha rolled his eyes, shook his head and returned his attention to the flight.  _He could have been my father_ , Trunks thought to himself, recalling all the times his mother would try to justify the “goodness” in his father by pointing out the shortcomings of the ex-boyfriend, the desert bandit, the one who couldn’t stay true, the one who was a womanizer, a swindler, a never-do-well.  _If he had just pulled himself together, he could have been so much more_.

     “Don’t worry yourself about it, Trunks.”  Gohan said as he tugged at the teenager’s sleeve, “My Dad’s alive because of you and I’m grateful for it.”

     From the console of the plane, a phone began to ring.  The passengers in the cabin each looked to each other before Krillin finally picked up the receiver.  Before he could even say his first hello, Bulma barked out, “IS MY ADULT SON WITH YOU GUYS?!”

     “Um, if you’re talking about Trunks, yeah he’s righ—”

     “TRUNKS, DO YOU HAVE THE TIME MACHINE WITH YOU?!”

     “Uhh, ummm yes—it’s in capsule form in my pocket, why do yo---”

     “I’m going to fax you a picture and my coordinates.  Can you meet me there?”

     “A fax?!  Are you serious??”  Trunks said as the plane console quickly spit out two pieces of paper—one with a map and precise global coordinates, another a full color picture that made Trunks gasp and turn white.  With a shaking hand he quickly felt over the package in his left breast pocket.  He opened his container full of capsules and indeed the time machine was still there, and yet . . .

     “I’ll be right there.”

 

 

Trunks’ eyes went wide with wonder as he parted the broad palm leaves surrounding the jungle grotto where the mosses and the vines were attempting to reclaim what appeared to be a perfect duplicate of his mother’s time machine.  He swallowed the lump in his throat, studied the color, the height, the dimensions, anything that would make it something different than the ship encapsulated in his pocket.  He pulled gently on the vegetation that had wound itself around the leg of the ship and wiped his palm across the smooth yellow paint of the time machine.  He looked up to the sky as his young mother approached in her small, Capsule Corp plane.  She set it down on a small, flat rocky landing close to the time machine, and as her eyes met those of her future, teenage son, she smiled broadly with a kind of beaming pride in her eyes at who her baby would become.  “Wow, I never thought my son would grow up to be so handsome.”  She said as she looked him up and down.

     “Um, thanks.”  Trunks replied, feeling his face burn bright red.

     “Well you were always such a mean looking baby, independent too!  I was a bit worried you’d grow up to be as big of a jerk as your father!”

     “Oh . . . yeah . . . . no not . . . not that bad I hope.”  Trunks said as he rubbed his hand over the back of his head and shielded his face slightly with his elbow. 

     “So this is it, huh?  And you for sure have the other one in your pocket?”  She asked as Trunks nodded his head.  “Did I make more than one time machine in the future?”

     “No.  You barely had enough material to make one.”  Trunks said as he walked a circle around the time machine.  He reached out to a moss-covered patch just above the lower instrument panel and pulled the clingy plant away from the painted surface.  He ran his finger just below the patchy red word he knew to be proof of the machine’s authenticity.  “Hope.  You wrote this in lipstick just before I came back.  I remember telling you how odd it was that you even owned a tube of lipstick because it seemed so unlike you.”

     “Whadaya mean so unlike me?”  Bulma replied as she pulled a compact from her pocket and admired her watermelon pink painted lips in the mirror, “I’ve never leave the house without it anymore!”

     “Maybe your focus is just a little different in the future, mo—Ms. Bulma” 

     “It’s ok.  I know it’s awkward.”  Bulma said as she snapped the compact closed.  “Is your dad still his lovely self in the future?”

     “Well . . . . “  Trunks said as he watched her yank leaves and other debris away from the time machine’s ladder, “My father’s dead in the future.”

     “Hmph, no doubt.  Always biting off a lot more than he can chew.”  She said as she took to the ladder.

     “This trip back, you know, it was kind of the first time I’d ever really spoke to him.”

     “I’m sure that went well.  What did he say?”

     “Hmm?  What do you mean?”

     “About you being his son and all, what did he say about it?  Did he seem excited?  Proud?”

     “Oh.”  Trunks replied with a hint of disappointment in his voice, “He umm . . . he doesn’t seem to want anything to do with me.”

     “Of course not.  Good old Vegeta, never changes.”  She said as she climbed further up the ladder, “Look, I know he must be kind of a disappointment to you, but . . . he just is what he is, you know?  Don’t let him get you down.”

     “He’s not really a . . . I mean, meeting him certainly explains a lot of things, you know.”  Trunks said with a chortle, “I never knew he was as . . . “

     “As hot headed as he is?  As much of an asshole as he is?”  she said as she grunted to the top.

     “No, I . . . I never knew he was such an amazing fighter.”

     Bulma rolled her eyes to herself and worked on opening the rusty latches surrounding the hatch.  “Yeah, so powerful.”  She said, shaking her head, “Can’t even handle basic life outside of working out and picking fights.”

     And although she had mostly muttered these words, Trunks could easily hear.  He placed his hands on the ladder and looked up to Bulma in her jumpsuit and trucker hat, thinking about how much more fleshed out and full of color she seemed compared to her older self, how much more full of spitfire in being so much closer to the events surrounding his birth.  It was odd to him that he had never seen such anger in his mother before.  With 4 synchronistic clicks the rest of the latches to the dome of the time machine popped open and his mother climbed inside, mouthing a faint _what the_ just before Trunks took to the rungs of the ladder and hurried his way up.  Bulma stepped aside and allowed him standing room behind the pilot’s seat, where a spiked translucent egg the size and shape of a large coconut was sitting. 

     Trunks picked up the egg with both hands.  He fit both sides together and then let them split apart.  “Look at this,”  Bulma said as she pushed the thick leaves off of the top and side of the dome through a large hole that was burrowed through it, “It’s not cracked, it’s melted, like something burned its way out.”

     “Whatever came from this egg made that hole.”  Trunks said, turning his eyes to the melted glass above his head.  He placed the egg back in its original resting place and quickly dashed his fingers to the control panel.  “Age 788 . . . three years further in the future from when I left!”

     “What?!”

     “It came here four years ago!  It was here a whole year already before I came last time!”

     “Holy . . . C’mon.  I’m going to take this egg back to my lab and see if I can get a good analysis on it.”  She said, stuffing the egg under her arm as she hurriedly exited the Time machine with Trunks following closely after.  “You can come with me if you want.” She rattled off, “You’d make your Grandma and Grandpa very happy in stopping by!  Wait, am I Grandma yet??”

     “What?!?!”  Trunks exclaimed, his face turning suddenly scarlet.

     “In the future, do you have any kids of your own?”

     “I-I-I’m just a teenager, geez!”  Trunks sputtered, “I-I-I haven’t even thought of—”

     “But do you have a girlfriend?”

     “I . . . had a love.”

     “Is she cute?  Does _she_ wear lipstick?” Bulma said with a wink as Trunks turned nearly purple with embarrassment. 

     “Mom, I—” But before Trunks could answer, his young mother looked over his shoulder and gave a sudden high pitched screech.  Trunks turned and assumed his battle stance, only to lay eyes on a large, human sized bug shell that was sickly shade of clear, covered in slime and busted out of the back similar to the way cicadas emerge from a molt. 

     “I’ve seen dinosaurs and dragons with my own eyes, but I’ve never seen a bug that big.”  Bulma said as Trunks kneeled down to the shell.  “Level with me—are you getting a bad feeling about this?”

     “Yeah.”  Trunks said as he dipped his hand in the slime and squeezed it.  “This is not making any sense at all.  Is this the reason why time has changed so much?” 

     “Can’t you guys just beat up all these . . . things that are messing up our world?”  Bulma said rather naively, “I mean, that is what Saiyans do, right?”

     “Dad, Piccolo, Tien and I . . . . we all tried but we couldn’t do anything.  Dad went super Saiyan and even he got both of his arms broken by just one of the Androids.”

     Bulma gave a quiet gasp.  “Vegeta?  Is he ok?”

     “Used a Senzu bean. He’s fine it’s just . . . . his pride that’s hurt.”  Trunks said as he squatted down in front of the big bug shell again, “One more enemy.  That’s all we need is one more enemy in the mix and . . . damn I should have gone back!  I should have gone back further!”

     “Hey listen, don’t blame yourself.  Where are you going after this?”

     “Master Roshi’s house . . . to tell the others.

     “I’ll keep in touch.  I’ll let you know as soon as I have some sort of handle on what this is.  Please be careful!  I love you!  Don’t let your father get you into anything wreckless!!” Bulma called out as her teenage son took to the sky. 

 

 

 

 

 

    

    

    


End file.
